Fifty Shades of Retribution
by ames 449
Summary: Alternative ending to Book Three: Fifty Shades of Freed. Full summary inside. Obviously contains massive spoilers
1. Chapter 1

This takes place shortly after Ana returns from Dr. Greene and tells Christian she is pregnant. It focuses on the aftermath of that event, and how her and Christian are dealing with the news. Obviously this contains spoilers up to the very end of the third book so you've been warned! I've tried to keep spellings American English, but apologies if there are any slips - the Editor in me is not happy that I've denounced everything I know about the grammar and language lol but I've tried. All mistakes are mine. Enjoy!

**Summary**: Ana's pregnant, Christian's mad and Jack is hell-bent on revenge. For Anastasia Grey, life has always thrown her a curve ball, but now she faces her toughest challenge. Outsmarting a psychotic misogynist who thinks she ruined his life. Can she repair her damaged marriage and survive Jack's retribution?

* * *

**PART ONE**

_Tuesday 27 September, 2011_

_**~ Anastasia ~**  
_

I wake screaming. Sweat molds my oversized t-shirt to my body like a second skin, and my soaked hair is plastered to my forehead. For a moment I'm disorientated and drowning in fear. My heart is pounding a painful, staccato beat against my ribs, and my lungs burn like acid as I try - and fail - to draw air.

Instinctively, I reach for my rock, for the one thing that makes all my pain and fear disappear, but there is nothing but crumpled sheets and a void where he should be. My heart sinks as I fist my hands into the bedding, anchoring myself to the only solid thing I have. I close my eyes and try to calm my racing pulse.

_Where's Christian? _

My muddled brain finally remembers its job and orders my body to start working again. I gulp air desperately, gasping as the last remnants of my nightmare falls away. I'm safe and, despite the fact I feel like I'm having a coronary, in one piece, but the bone-chilling fear remains.

Apparitions dance in my vision, heightened by the darkness, and my mouth is dry. I lean across the bed and fumble blindly for the lamp on the night stand. Like a child scared of the dark, I find myself needing the reassurance of the light. Soft and muted, it chases the remaining shadows from my mind, dragging me back to reality and grounds me enough to take in my surroundings.

The walls are a pale pink and the beech wooden floor is partially hidden beneath a large white rug. Aside from the large double bed I'm lying on, the only other furniture is a two door wardrobe, a five drawer dresser and a desk which is swimming with paperwork.

The furniture, the photographs on the walls and the assortment of personal possessions scattered around the room are achingly familiar, but this is not my home, and these are not my things. Confusion is my body's first line of thought, but it is quickly followed by heart-stopping panic as my memory returns.

My stomach twists like a wet cloth being wrung out, and it is like I've walked into a closed patio door: painful. I wish I could go back thirty seconds and forget. I wish I could turn back the hands of time and change everything, but as the realization of what I've done sets in, I feel sick to my stomach.

It wasn't a nightmare. It was real.

I left my husband.

_Oh, god. I really left Christian..._

Closing my eyes, ignoring the tremor that runs through my hands, I recall the last fortnight with painful clarity. I remember telling Christian I was pregnant, and I remember his response to the news. He left. He screamed and left.

Since then, we have co-existed in an uneasy asymmetry. We were once so in synch to one another, but the last two weeks, we've been like strangers. We've slept in separate rooms, eaten at separate times, and we've barely said more than a few words to each other. I couldn't stand it any longer. I needed space so I fled to the one remaining familiar place I have left in Seattle outside the Escala: mine and Kate's old apartment.

Kate is the closest thing I have to a sister, and although Christian has replaced her support in so many ways, I still need her in ways he can't even fathom. Idly, I wonder if her and Elliot are having a good vacation in Paris as tears well in my eyes. I wish she were here now, to reassure me that walking out had been the right move, to reassure me that my husband is acting ridiculous, and to reassure me everything will be okay. Instead, I am forced to rationalize this situation myself, and that is proving difficult while I am so upset.

But as pissed and as angry as I am at my husband, there is a part of me that understands why he lost his head over this. My fifty shades of fucked-upness needs to be in constant control, and this baby is something he has no control over whatsoever. Christian cannot deal with the fact I'm introducing a variable to our relationship which he has no power over.

But it is more than the loss of control. He's scared of failing his own child as badly as his mom failed him. I understand his trepidation; I'm scared too. A baby is a huge responsibility, and at twenty-two, the thought of being a mom is terrifying, but being a single mom tears my gut apart.

Can I do this without him? Do I _want_ to do this without him? In spite of everything he's done to me in the last two weeks, I love Christian, and that will never change, but I won't let him make me chose between him and this baby.

I was astounded when he told me to have an abortion. The argument had been raging for at least ten minutes, during which time he'd accused me of getting pregnant on purpose, of ruining our marriage and of ruining his life. Throughout our relationship, Christian has shocked me many times, but nothing has stunned me the way those few words did: "Get rid of it so we can get back to fucking normal." It was said in anger, and without thought, and he was instantly filled with shame, but it still cut deep.

I barely remember what my reply had been, but I do remember slapping him around the face hard enough to sting my palm. I'd fled to my bedroom, packed some things and left him. Maybe we rushed things, maybe we got married too soon. Clearly we both want different things, but I'd never realized just how different.

Christian and I have never openly discussed the prospect of increasing our family, but I always assumed children would be a part of our future. Perhaps I was naive to think that Christian would ever want that apple pie life with me.

My hand gravitates to my abdomen where our baby is growing. He promised me once that he would be whatever I needed him to be and that he would give me whatever I needed to have. If I remember rightly that included children. I hate that he's not with me on this, and I'm not even sure if this is something he can be brought round to. At that thought tears spring in my eyes once more and I am angry at myself for being so emotional, but my hormones are on overdrive and controlling them is like trying to make the sun rise in the west.

However, in spite of everything that has happened there are two things I am sure of: firstly, that I love Christian with all my heart, body and soul. I have never doubted that, although he has given me much cause to in these last few weeks, and secondly I am not getting rid of our baby. The thought of it makes me feel sick to my stomach. If I have to do this alone, I will. I cannot and will not give up this baby. I can't. Despite the fact it is currently nothing more than a tiny blip nestled deep in my womb, I already love it. If Christian continues to force me to chose between him and this baby, I'm not sure what I will do.

I squeeze my eyes shut and swallow the bile making its way up my throat. I'm surprised he let me go – albeit with an escort in the shape of Sawyer, who is no doubt staking out my apartment right now – and I'm even more surprised that in the eight and a half hours since I walked out of Escala, he hasn't called me.

I can't prevent the sob which erupts from my mouth unbidden and uninvited, and despite my efforts to be strong, I descend into hysterical tears. I've never felt so useless and pathetic, and all I want to do is call my husband and beg him to let me come home, but I know that is not an option. This is one thing I am not willing to back down on. Like it or not, Grey Junior will be making an appearance in almost eight months time.

I cry for that long I no longer have any tears left to shed. My mouth is filled with cotton wool, but it is a full bladder which finally forces me from the bed. Dragging my hand across my swollen eyes, I push up off the mattress and cross the carpeted floor towards the door, but my attention is snared before I manage to exit.

There is an assortment of photographs on a pin board above the desk. Most are of Kate and Elliot in various embraces, at various places. They look happy and in love, limbs tangled around one another, kisses given seemingly easy, and for a moment I feel a pang of jealousy. Why can't Christian be _normal_? I bet if Kate told Elliot she was pregnant he would be ecstatic – most normal husband's would be – but Christian is so complicated, it is difficult to know what his reaction to anything will be.

My gaze locks onto a photograph of me and Kate in a bar when we were at university. I let out a low breath, ignoring the way it hitches with heavy emotion. The Ana Steele in the photograph is worlds apart from the Anastasia Grey tear-stained and pregnant in her best friend's bedroom, and I'm not sure I can reconcile the person I am now with the person I was then. Christian has changed me for the better and I don't know what to do without him. The thought makes my blood chill.

Pushing that dark thought aside, I head to the bathroom and although I feel better with an empty bladder, there is still an unpleasant feeling in the pit of my stomach. As I emerge in the lounge, I glance at the clock and sigh. It is only 3.10am.

I don't bother getting back into bed, but make my way into the couch and flop onto the leather seat. I'm not much for television, but there is no way I will be able to get back to sleep; I need the distraction. I flick aimlessly through the channels, my mind wandering between my task and the disaster that is my life. Before Dr Greene dropped that bombshell, everything had been perfect. The difference one day can make has my head reeling.

As 6am approaches I'm still on the sofa, and I'm still awake. My body is completely spent and exhausted, but my brain is on overdrive. Jumbled thoughts crash through my consciousness as I try to process everything that has happened in the last fortnight, running over the events, replaying every argument over and over.

At half past, I force myself to move. I consider calling in sick for work, but quickly dismiss the idea. Sitting at home will only add fuel to the fire; keeping busy is the only way I will get through my first full day without Christian. I hope.

Numbly, I drag myself into the shower, and wash myself in a daze. I barely recall getting dressed, but somehow I am garbed in a gray pencil skirt, a pale blue blouse and a pair of kitten heels, ready to leave. As I exit the apartment building, I start towards the bus stop, intending to utilize public transport to work, but Sawyer suddenly appears like a wraith from nowhere.

"Mrs Grey, are you heading into work?" he asks, and for a moment I see the concern in his face as he takes in my appearance. Shit, how bad do I look?

"I don't need you to drive me, Luke," I tell him quietly.

"It's no problem," Sawyer assures me, and I sigh internally at the argument I know is coming.

"Fine, I don't want you to drive me. Please tell my husband if he really cared about my well-being, he wouldn't have let me leave last night."

Sawyer shifts uncomfortably, and I can see the battle raging inside him. I hate putting him in an awkward position, but I don't want my husband's feigned concern. "Mrs Grey, I'm sorry, but I have orders to take you to work and bring you back here safely. If I disobey those orders your husband will fire me, and I need this job."

I scowl. I like Sawyer, and I don't want him fired because of me, but I'm also not willing to let Christian dictate the grounds of our breakup either. Pulling my cell phone out of my purse, I hit speed dial one and wait for the call to connect. I'm surprised he picks up.

"Ana," he says stiffly, but I can hear barely veiled concern in his voice. He's worried why I'm calling, and that gives me hope.

"I'm going to work on the bus. Please stop sending your security team to watch over me, Mr Grey. I do not require your protection anymore, nor do I want it."

His outrage is palpable, and I can almost imagine his look of indignation. "Don't be ridiculous, Ana. Take the damn car to work."

"No, and if you insist on sending Sawyer or Taylor or Ryan to watch over me, I will file a restraining order against you. I am no longer your responsibility."

I hang up, not giving him the opportunity to respond. Sawyer meets my gaze with a mixture of amusement, horror and caution. It would be funny if the situation wasn't so dire, but my adrenaline is pouring into every cell, and my heart is racing. My phone rings suddenly. I glance down at the handset and see his name flash on the screen.

Ignoring it, I turn to Sawyer. "Thank you, Luke, but I won't be requiring your services today – or any other day for that matter."

Sawyer merely frowns. "I might be out of turn saying this, Mrs Grey, but just because you are having... _issues,_" he says the word carefully,_ "_with Mr Grey it doesn't stop us caring about you too. Taylor, Ryan and I – we want you to be safe as well, so please let me drive you to work."

It is a genuine plea, and the fight leaves me instantly. I have never realized Christian's security team cares that much about me, but really I should have because I consider them part of the family too, and if anything happened to them, I'd be devastated. I let out a low breath.

"Okay," I relent softly. "You can drive me to work."

Sawyer's shoulders sag with relief, and as he leads me back to the car, his phone is pressed to his ear.

"Mrs Grey is secured, and is en route to SIP," he says as he opens the back door of the Audi for me. I climb in and pull my seat belt on as he shuts the door behind me. As he gets into the front, he is still on the phone, but he is listening. After a moment he speaks, his voice serious.

"Of course... Yes, I will make sure, Mr Grey. I'll call you once we arrive."

I roll my eyes. Damn control freak. I resist the urge to call him back and tell him I'm not in the car because of him but because of Sawyer, but I know that would cause a problem for Sawyer, rather than upset Christian. Instead, I lean my elbow against the windowsill and watch the landscape whiz by as Sawyer navigates the early morning traffic.

As we pull up outside SIP, Sawyer climbs out of the car to open the back door for me. I thank him and start toward the building.

"Mrs Grey?" I turn back at his voice.

"Yes?"

"If you need to leave the building for anything, please let me know. I am to go with you at all times."

I scowl and spin on my heel, heading into the building without another word. Hannah, my assistant, gives me a warm smile as I pass her desk.

"Morning, Ana," she starts, but concern flashes in her eyes as she catches sight of me properly. I have no doubt I look like hell. I've had no sleep and I've spent the last twenty-four hours crying. My face is probably a puffy mess, and the lack of make-up certainly isn't doing me any favors, but I'm starting to feel self-conscious; she is the second person to have that reaction to my appearance.

"Are you okay,?" she asks, half-rising from her desk as I pass on the way to my office.

"I'm fine. Can you get me some coffee?" I don't give her the chance to question me further as I stride into my office and shut the door behind me.

For a moment I glance around the four walls and I want to give into the tears threatening to fall. Doubt assails me. I don't think I can do this – any of this. How can I bring up a baby on my own and hold down a job when I don't even think I can get through the next eight hours? I shake my head and force my walls up.

_I won't cry, I won't cry, I won't cry... _

Instead, I concentrate on my work and what I have to do today. I move around the other side of my desk, stow my purse in my drawer and open my diary. My computer is powering up as Hannah knocks tentatively on the door.

"Come in," I murmur.

"Your coffee," she says unnecessarily as she places the mug in front of me. Her eyes narrow as she studies me. "Ana, are you sure you're okay?"

I glance up from my computer and sigh. "I'm sorry, Hannah, I'm just... I'm having a bad morning, but I'm fine, honestly." She nods. She is still worried, but she doesn't push me further, which I'm grateful for. If she pushes too much I might breakdown and I don't want to embarrass myself at work. "Did you finish the contract package for the J.V. Mackenzie account?"

"I'll have it with you before lunch," she assures me. "Do you need anything else?"

I shake my head, and I'm grateful when she finally leaves the room. Alone, I feel all the stress re-enter my body as the wall I built for Hannah comes crashing down. I miss my husband so much; I miss the banter, and the impromptu kinky fuckery in the elevator or on the pool table or on my desk. Those days are long gone, and I wonder if I will ever have kinky fuckery again.

"For god sake, Ana, get a grip," I growl.

I turn my attention to my computer, which has finished loading up, and I am disappointed to see there are no messages from Christian. Why hasn't he called or tried to contact me yet? Is he really _that_ mad? Will he ever forgive me? Maybe it is up to me to hold out the first olive branch of peace. With that in mind, I start to type a message to him.

* * *

**From:** Anastasia Grey

**Subject**: Please talk to me...

**Date:** September 27, 2011 08:54

**To**: Christian Grey

I don't know what I can say to you to fix this, but I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen, but I'm not sorry it has either. I'm pregnant, Christian, and I need you. I'm scared to death too, but we have to face this. I can't do this alone. I don't _want_ to do this alone. Please don't make me. I love you so much.

Can we meet after work and discuss this?

Ana x

**_Anastasia Grey_**

**Editor SIP**

* * *

Feeling utterly miserable, I sort through the rest of my inbox, replying where necessary and ignoring the junk mail, but my mind wanders aimlessly throughout the morning, my thoughts on my husband.

It is just after 11 when Hannah knocks on the door and hands me the papers I requested earlier. She spreads out the pieces I need to sign in front of me, and places the manila folder with the rest of the account on the side of my desk. I skim over the contract briefly, checking the details are correct before signing it.

"It just needs the client's signature now, and then we're good to go. Can you Fed-Ex it over? I want to get this secured as soon as possible."

Hannah nods, collecting the folder and the papers, but she remains hovering at the edge of my desk. I glance up at her expectantly.

"Is there something else?"

"Ana, I might be overstepping the mark here, but I'm concerned about you." The fact she is the second person to say that to me today doesn't go unnoticed, but it does annoy me. Why does everyone suddenly think they know what is best for me? And why do they all feel the need to tell me their concern is in my best damn interest? "You look terrible. Maybe you should go home and rest."

"I think I'm coming down with something.," The lie comes easily, and I'm surprised at how effortlessly it slips from my tongue. I've never been a good liar, and I hate lying to her face, but I can't tell her her that my husband has abandoned me. The shame is too much to bear.

She shifts her shoulders. "So go home. I'll make sure the Mackenzie contract goes out on time."

The thought of being locked away from the outside world is more than tempting; I don't want to be here, and I don't want to spend my whole day deflecting questions about how awful I look and if I am okay. But being alone will be worse. Kate's apartment is so big and empty without her there, and I don't want to sit and dwell on Christian all day.

"I'll be okay," I assure her.

Hannah is unconvinced, but she says nothing more as she leaves my office, and once again I am grateful I have my own space. My email pings suddenly, drawing my attention. My heart gives a leap of hope; its from Christian. I wonder what it says and how mad he still is as I shakily open it.

* * *

**From**: Christian Grey

**Subject**: I can't talk right now...

**Date:** September 27, 2011 11:24

**To**: Anastasia Grey

I'm leaving for Taiwan tomorrow and there are a multitude of things I have to organize. The meeting I was telling you about the other day will now start at the beginning of next week.

Sawyer will remain at your disposal until I return, and I would prefer it if you moved back into Escala while I'm gone. Kate's apartment does not have adequate security, and I do not want to be worrying about you while I'm away. I leave after 10am tomorrow, so Sawyer will bring your things here after you leave for work, and I will return on October, 9. I apologize for what I said to you last night. I was pissed and confused, but I should never have said it. I don't even know why I did. It is your body, and I cannot tell you what to do in that respect.

However, when it comes to your personal safety, please do not fucking ignore me. Trust me when I tell you I know better than you about this. I've been a high-profile target for years, Ana. It's not something you can be apathetic about. If you **EVER** pull a stunt again like you did this morning, you won't be able to sit down for a month. Our relationship may be on the rocks at the moment, but your well-being is still important to me. Getting the bus to work is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard come out of your mouth! You are the wife of a multimillionaire, who would do almost anything to see you safe. Why would you put your life unnecessarily in danger?

Also, have you forgotten there is still the unresolved issue of Jack Hyde who likes setting fire to things and has a pretty big vendetta against you and I?

Please try to be a little more considerate of your own fucking safety, especially considering your condition.

_**Christian Grey,**_

**CEO, Grey Enterprises Holding, Inc**

* * *

I re-read it and frown. He's leaving the country for a meeting that will last over a week? What the hell...? What kind of meeting lasts that long? I'm confused, hurt and angry, but mostly I'm filled with dread that he won't return. He's running, and that concerns me.

* * *

**From**: Anastasia Grey

**Subject**: Running away is your answer? Seriously?

**Date:** September 27, 2011 11:32

**To**: Christian Grey

How is going to Taiwan for over a week going to help? We need to talk, Christian! We have to sort this out. But fine, if that is what you need to do, then go. It is preferable to you getting shit faced and going to that bitch, Elena. Please call me when you return.

_**Anastasia Grey**_

**Editor, SIP**

* * *

I hit send with more vigor than is necessary and I don't sign off the email. I hate that he is running away from this and that he won't deal with it. I know his reaction is because he thinks he will fail this child, just like his mother failed him, but it's ridiculous. I might not have known his mother, but I know my husband and there is no doubt in my mind that he will make an amazing father, but all his insecurities are deep-rooted. Removing them will be tough.

_Goddamn it, Christian._.. Please don't leave me to cope with this alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**PART TWO**

_Tuesday 27 September, 2011_

Ten minutes later I'm on a call to a potential client when I feel the tell-tale, pre-vomit clench deep in my abdomen. I barely manage to hang up the phone before the entire contents of my stomach make an appearance. Luckily, I manage to grab the trash can at the side of my desk, rather than projectile vomiting all over the floor.

Wave after wave of bile and water rush up my throat; the coffee I drank earlier is doing nothing to protect me from the throes of morning sickness. I don't even know why they call it that, because since I found out I'm pregnant I've been puking my guts up all hours of the day and night. I'm barely keeping anything down at all.

Hannah is at my side suddenly, her face drawn and pale, a supportive hand resting on my lower back. Why is she here – witnessing one of the most humiliating moments of my life? Public barfing is not something I _**ever**_ want to repeat. Embarrassed doesn't even cover what I am feeling. I try to get her to leave, but between the retching and convulsing, breathing – let alone speaking – is becoming a problem.

After what feels like an age, my stomach gives a final contraction, shudders and is still. My body spent, I collapse against the edge of my desk and close my eyes to stave off the lingering nausea.

_Please god, let that be it..._

I repeat the litany in my head as I try to swallow the acid coating the back of my throat. I don't think I can do another round of that. I am shaking all over with exhaustion and my stomach is throbbing.

"Oh, Jesus! Ana, do you want me to call a doctor?" Hannah asks, alarmed as she passes me the box of tissues on my desk. I take a handful, and shakily wipe the vomit from my lips. The taste and smell is awful. I want desperately to rinse my mouth, but I'm not a hundred percent sure my legs will work if I try to stand.

"No, no doctor..." I murmur, closing my eyes in an attempt to control the dizziness rolling over me. This is horrific; I feel like I'm dying.

"Do you think it's something you've eaten?" Hannah is frowning at me, her expression apprehensive. "Maybe you have food poisoning... Should I call someone?"

I wave off her ministrations and manage to pry my eyes open. The world wavers in front of me like a mirage and it takes a moment for everything to stop moving. _Holy crap, this is hellish. _

"I'm not sick," I assure her, my voice thick. Despite the ridiculousness of my declaration, I manage to say it with a straight face. I'm not surprised the look she fires back at me is filled with incredulity.

"Your trash can begs to differ."

I manage to straighten without face planting back onto my desk; the maelstrom in my head is starting to slow down. I take that as a good sign, although I don't attempt to stand yet; I don't want to tempt fate.

"Really," I repeat firmly. "I'm fine." I'm not sure if I'm trying to convince her or me anymore.

"Do you need me to call a doctor?"

"No, I don't." I push unsteadily to my feet, and am instantly assaulted with another wave of dizziness which nearly floors me. I throw my hand out and clutch the edge of my desk, closing my eyes. OK, maybe fine is a bit of a stretch, but I don't need a doctor; I'm pregnant, not dying – although it sure as hell feels like it.

"Come on, Ana. No more arguing. You're vomiting, you're dizzy... Something is obviously going on. Let me at least call your family practitioner so you can get checked over."

I'm going to have to come clean. My morning sickness so far has been pretty ugly, and from the books I've read, its probably going to last a few more weeks at least – possibly even the entire duration of my pregnancy. I don't want this same argument every time I lose my lunch.

"I'm not sick, and I don't have food poisoning," I tell her quietly. "I'm pregnant."

Hannah's face morphs into glee. "Oh my god – Ana – that is wonderful news!" Her expression fades at the look on my face. "It is wonderful, isn't it?"

I shrug, going for nonchalance, but I'm pretty sure I fail. "I think so."

"But Christian doesn't?" she hazards a guess.

It takes all my will to keep my tears at bay. I don't want to talk about this, not now, not ever. I just want to forget what is happening. I lift my chin and steel my voice. "Christian is happy, we just don't want anyone to know for a few weeks yet. It's bad luck in the first trimester."

"Oh, okay," she gives me a conspiratorial wink. "I won't say a word, promise."

"Thank you." I push to my feet. "If you will excuse me; I need to clean my trash can."

Hannah opens and closes her mouth, but doesn't try to stop me as I leave my office. _Really_? _I need to clean my trash can? _What the hell is wrong with me?

Clutching the vomit-filled can to my chest, I muster the tattered shreds of my dignity and navigate the corridor toward the bathroom. I'm exhausted of hiding, and I'm tired of worrying. It's draining.

Claire gives me an odd look as I pass reception, and wrinkles her nose as the stench of vomit filters through the air. I block everything out as I push the door to the ladies open and reach the sanctuary of the bathroom.

Thankfully, all the stalls are empty. I'm grateful. I'm not sure I want to do this with an audience. I nearly retch again as I empty the contents into the toilet with a disgusting splash and rinse the can out until it is clean.

I watch the water hitting the bottom of the sink for a moment before cupping my hand beneath the faucet. I swill my mouth out until I can no longer taste vomit and reach for a couple of paper towels to dry my face. As I move, I catch sight of myself in the mirror and suddenly I understand why everyone is so concerned.

I look horrific. My skin is gray, waxy and covered in a sheen of sweat, and there are bags the size of Washington under my eyes. My hair is limp and dull, like I haven't washed the soap out properly. Two weeks of puking unrelentingly is really starting to impact upon my appearance. I feel tears threatening to fall once again. I'm a mess, and my mood swings are giving me vertigo. I yo-yo between angry and upset at least twenty times an hour. How can I ever hope to get Christian back like this? Despair washes over me and I feel lost. I want to sink to my knees and sob like a broken child, but this isn't Kate's apartment, and I refuse to have a meltdown in the ladies restroom at work. I steel myself, pulling up my walls, determined to hold it together and repeat the familiar mantra.

_I won't cry, I won't cry, I won't cry..._

"Ana?" Hannah pops her head around the door, her expression still anxious.

I smooth my skirt down, tuck my blouse in and comb my fingers through my hair. I still look like hell, but at least I'm a little more presentable.

"I'm coming."

When I retreat back to the safety of my office, there is a glass of water on my desk. Mentally, I thank Hannah as I take a sip before sliding back into my chair. The smell of vomit still lingers in the air, but I try to ignore it and focus. I wiggle my mouse to release my computer from my screen saver and type my password in to my email account. There is another message from Christian when I refresh it.

* * *

**From**: Christian Grey

**Subject**: I am NOT running away

**Date:** September 27, 2011 11:51

**To**: Anastasia Grey

I have business to attend to. This deal is incredibly important and has been over 12 months in the making. One wrong move and the whole thing will fold like a pack of cards, and, as I explained to you previously, a lot of jobs are depending upon this sale. I cannot get out of it just because we are quarreling. We will discuss our business, however, on my return.

I am sick of telling you Elena means nothing to me. I don't know why I went to see her after your earth shattering news the other night, but I meant it when I said I was done with her. Please try to remember this in future, Mrs Grey, otherwise I will seriously have to consider tattooing it onto your brain.

**Christian Grey**

**CEO, Grey Enterprises Holding, Inc**

* * *

I take some solace from the fact he is at least still referring to me as his wife, and that he has denounced and not defended Mrs Robinson. The email lacks his usual mercurial banter though and I'm not sure if that hints at his state of mind or not. I figure it probably shows he's still pissed at me for getting pregnant, for ruining his life and for leaving.

I miss him so much, more than I thought possible in such a short span of time, and the thought of him leaving the country for eleven days makes me feel sick to my stomach. I recall our conversation after my birthday about Taiwan, and the meeting he's referring to. He'd been concerned about it then, but I hadn't really given much thought to it. I'd been very distracted; Christian has that effect on me. It is very difficult to concentrate when he is around. Maybe I should have pushed for more information. The one thing I do recall is him telling me it was for no more than a few days. That figure seems to have grown considerably since our conversation, which means on some level he is still running.

I absently finger the silver Cartier charm bracelet Christian bought me a few weeks ago for my birthday. It seems like an age ago, despite the fact only a few weeks have passed, and a wave of sadden washes through me as I think about it. Everything had been fine then; we'd been happy. But I hadn't been pregnant then – well, I had, I just hadn't known I was.

* * *

**From**: Anastasia Grey

**Subject**: Please make time in your schedule

**Date:** September 27, 2011 12:08

**To**: Christian Grey

We need to talk before you leave. How come your trip has extended so significantly? Christian, please don't use this as an excuse not to deal with our marital problems.

Be careful on your trip, and please remember I love you. I can also tattoo this on your brain if you need me to.

I miss you.

Ana x

**Anastasia Grey**

**Editor, SIP**

* * *

The phone ringing distracts me from my errant thoughts of my husband. I reach across the desk automatically and pick up the receiver.

"Ana Grey, SIP."

There is no response, so I repeat my greeting. After a couple of seconds of silence I hang up, and return my attention to a new email in my inbox from a client signed last week.

My 12pm appointment arrives at 12.14, almost quarter of an hour late. She writes young adult books and is a painfully shy woman. We go through the changes suggested by the slush readers in the manuscript and then once she's satisfied we sit and go through the contract. I hand her a copy to take to her lawyer, shake her hand and watch her leave.

My intercom buzzes and Hannah's voice sounds.

"_If you don't need me, I'm going out for lunch. Do you want me to bring you something back?" _

"Yes, please. Just a sandwich. Something plain – with no mayo." The smell of mayonnaise is making me queasy at the moment. "Thanks."

"_Sure. I'll be back soon." _

I silence the intercom as my email pings. There are two messages, one from an agent, the other from my husband. I open the latter first.

* * *

**From**: Christian Grey

**Subject**: I don't need to schedule you into my life, Ana

**Date:** September 27, 2011 12:33

**To**: Anastasia Grey

I always have time for you whenever you want it or need it. You are not one of my clients or associates. I seem to recall you telling me that yourself – rather forcefully, if I remember rightly. Repeat after me: you are not one of my assets! However, I have a lot to do today, so I will call you after I land in Taiwan. There is a fifteen hour time difference between Tapei and Seattle.

My trip has extended because there is a lot to do in a short span of time. It is more cost efficient to fly out once, conclude everything there and then, rather than needing to go again in a few months time. There is no hidden meaning behind the trip. It is just business, and if I remember rightly, I did invite you to come along. It was you who declined.

Mrs Jones has cleaned the spare room out for you in the apartment. It's yours while I'm gone. Sawyer, Prescott and Ryan will remain with you. I'm taking Reynolds and Taylor with Ros and I. Please do as the security staff ask. They know what they are doing, and they only care about keeping you safe. Do **NOT** do anything stupid in my absence.

I will miss you.

**Christian Grey,**

**CEO, Grey Enterprises Holding, Inc**

* * *

I find myself frowning, which is something I seem to be doing a lot of lately. He doesn't want me to contact him until he lands in Taiwan? He's leaving tomorrow, Taiwan is about a twenty hour flight for Joe Public on a commercial liner, so Christian will be able to do it maybe seventeen or eighteen, but still, its long, which means I'm not going to be able to speak to him until... Thursday? My stomach clenches. I thought he was thawing out a little, but this latest correspondence dumps me back at square one, filling me with despair. Why won't he speak to me?

At 1pm, Hannah slides a sandwich on the desk in front of me with strict instructions to eat it. It's plain cheese, bland but just what a vomiting stomach needs. I nibble absently on it, my gaze locked onto the email. I'm confused and disturbed by his words, but I am a little warmed by the fact he misses me. His emails are as much of an enigma as he is himself.

By 1.10pm, the sandwich Hannah bought me makes a reappearance. At least I make it to the bathroom this time and vomit in relative privacy.

The rest of my day passes in an uneventful blur. At 5pm, I lock my office, say my goodbyes to Hannah and Claire and exit the building.

Outside is as dark as my mood. Rain is bouncing off the sidewalk, and the sky is heavy with gray clouds. Most of the cars passing have their lights on in an attempt to be visible in the poor visibility. The sky lights up overhead suddenly. It is followed by a guttural growl of thunder.

Sawyer moves toward me, an umbrella in hand, his expression as stoic as usual. He inclines his head slightly at me."Good evening, Mrs Grey."

"Hey, Sawyer."

"Are you ready to leave?"

I notice he doesn't ask me if I'm ready to go home, and I wonder if that is a conscious thing. Escala is home - it's mine and Christian's home – and it is the one place I want to go more than anything in the world. I hate that he is being so damn stubborn, and I hate that he is leaving in the morning for his trip without talking to me. I don't like that we are parting for so long on such uneasy terms. I'm also annoyed that yet again he is dictating the terms of our separation. Does he really think he can just bury his head in the sand and ignore this?

As Sawyer walks me over to the car, holding the umbrella high over my head to keep me dry, I realize I cannot let Christian go to Taiwan without at least trying to mend our broken relationship. I know it will take more than simply slapping a band aid over the wound, but I have to try.

Sawyer opens the door so I can climb in and shuts it behind me. Pulling my seat belt on, I watch absently as Sawyer slides into the front and starts the car. As he slides out of the parking space and joins the queue of commuters heading home, I make my move.

"Sawyer, can you take me to the penthouse?"

He meets my eyes briefly in the rear view mirror, before returning his attention back to the road. "Escala, ma'am?"

"Yes," I confirm.

"I'll need to inform Mr Grey." He at least has the decency to appear apologetic, but I still roll my eyes. Considering I walked out on Christian and was not thrown out, I have no idea why he needs to be told I'm returning, but I am too exhausted to argue with Sawyer.

"Of course."

He taps the hands-free ear piece he's wearing. Despite the fact he's trying to be discreet, his voice filters into the back of the car.

"T, it's me. I'm bringing Mrs Grey back to Escala." He listens for a few seconds before speaking again. I fiddle absently with the edge of my skirt, feeling anger rising in my stomach. It is my home too and yet I feel as if Sawyer is asking permission to bring me back. Even if Christian says no, I'm going. I'll walk if I have to. "ETA about ten minutes - maybe fifteen if we hit rush hour traffic." He falls silent again, listening. I have no idea what Taylor is saying to him; Sawyer's face gives absolutely nothing away. "Okay...Yeah, okay; I understand. Are you sure this is a good idea?... Fine. I'll see you then."

Sawyer often defers to Taylor – he is, after all, his superior – but it surprises me he didn't call Christian directly. Maybe he's worried about my husband's reaction, and is hoping Taylor will act like a buffer. The older man does seem to have a certain ability to keep Christian calm.

I fish my cell out of my purse and glance at the screen, waiting for the call from my husband demanding to know what I am doing and why I am coming to the Escala after he expressly told me he'd call, but my cell stays silent.

"Mr Grey won't call," Sawyer informs me quietly.

"Why not?" I ask, glancing at his face in the rear view mirror. His lips twitch into the beginnings of a frown before the stoic mask is back in place.

"Because Taylor and I both decided Mr Grey doesn't need to know you are coming."

I frown. "You haven't told him you're bringing me?" I'm surprised, and anxious by that revelation. My husband does not like to be surprised, nor does he his staff withholding information from him. I hope Taylor and Sawyer know what they are doing.

"No, Mrs Grey." He is definitely also concerned, but he keeps it well-veiled beneath his unreadable expression.

"Why?" I ask as car continues to glide through the Seattle streets toward Escala.

He shifts his shoulders. "Mr Grey doesn't work very well on his own, Mrs Grey. The sooner you are home, the better for everyone."

From his tone, I get the impression my husband has been like a storm since I left, and a ripple of concern runs through me. It's been less than twenty-four hours – how bad could he have been? I wince and am reminded of the last time we broke up. Christian had been a mess then, and that was early on in our relationship. This time we're married and I'm pregnant.

No wonder Sawyer is throwing me into the lion's den.


	3. Chapter 3

**PART THREE**

_Tuesday 27 September, 2011_

As Sawyer punches in the code for the penthouse, anxiety claws up my spine. The elevator doors slide shut with a whoosh, and I lean against the back wall as the carriage starts moving. This is a seriously bad idea; Christian is going to _freak_ when he sees me. I resist the urge to pull the emergency button as the elevator cruises closer toward the top of the building and flee back to the safety of Kate and Elliot's apartment.

But I can't run – not now. I need answers. Even if this is the end of our marriage, even if – god forbid – he never wants to see me again, I have to know. I can't stand this place we are currently in: not together, but not separated. A horrific limbo where neither of us can move on. If this is to be the end, I'd rather know.

My hand strays to my stomach. What if he doesn't want to fix our relationship? What if the baby is a hard limit for Christian? What if he files for divorce? I taste bile in my mouth and swallow it down.

Sawyer shifts on his feet, his gaze locked on the numeric display above the doors as the elevator climbs higher. He is as nervous as I am, and I know why. Christian is going to be just as pissed at him when he finds out him and Taylor have both facilitated in this unannounced meeting.

I mentally kick myself. What is wrong with me? I'm not a wayward teenager sneaking home after breaking curfew; I am a 22 year old married woman who does not have to answer to anyone, let alone my control freak husband. Escala is my home, and I have as much right as Christian to be here. However, I have no idea why his security staff have kept my coming from my husband. It's not like them to intentionally withhold information from Christian – from me, yes, but not from my husband. Part of me wonders how horrific we've been to live with for the last fortnight if his security team are seeking ways to force us into a relationship intervention.

I feel guilty suddenly; Mrs Jones and Taylor have both been in the thick of our raging storm, walking on egg shells around the apartment while Christian and I have thundered around for the best part of two weeks. It must have been unbearable for them.

The familiar sound of my cell ringing pulls me abruptly from my dark thoughts. I fish inside my purse, and finally get a hand to it. The number is unknown. As I go to answer it, the elevator pings and the doors slide open to reveal the familiar vestibule. I silence the call and stow my cell back in my purse, but I don't make any attempt to leave the safety of the elevator.

"Mrs Grey?"

I take a deep breath. _I can do this. I __**have**__ to do this._ With a resolve I don't really feel, I step into the vestibule and wait for Sawyer to open the door to the penthouse suite. As usual, he enters first and does a quick sweep inside before signaling to me that it's okay to enter.

I can smell him as soon as I set foot in the apartment. For a moment, I stand and breathe in Christian's scent, my longing for my husband increasing ten-fold. I have no idea what I will do if he wants to end our relationship, but I know I cannot terminate this pregnancy. Not even for him. As tough as this last fortnight has been, the only thing which has kept me going is the thought of this baby.

Maybe he will come around, maybe he still loves me...

And then unbidden the memory of our last fight replays in my mind. He'd been so angry, so hurtful, I don't see how we can return to normal. How can I even trust him again if he runs to _her_ every time we fight? I try to push Elena 'bitch-face' Lincoln from my mind, but her smug expression dances in front of me, tormenting me.

And then I hear him, his voice bellowing from deep within the bowels of the apartment, coming from the direction of his office.

"_I don't fucking care what that son of a bitch wants, Ros, there's no fucking way! Tell Travis he either gets Sutton out by close of play tomorrow or he'll be getting his pink slip too!" _

I cringe at the venom radiating through his tone. If he's already pissed, there is no way our discussion is going to remain calm or end well. Christian's temper can be fierce, and his tongue acerbic when he's in this mood. I resist the urge to head straight back to the elevator, but Christian's voice keeps me rooted to the spot.

"_I'm doing him a fucking favor! He's wanted to get rid of that asshole for years. Well now he gets to give him a foot up his ass and blame me. How is that not a win-win situation for him?"_ There is silence for a moment and I assume Ros is talking. When Christian speaks again, his voice is laced with disgust. _"Seriously, he is asking for fucking severance for that jackass? Fire them both!" _

I pull absently at the edge of my blouse, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth. Holy crap, what was I thinking coming here.

"Mrs Grey?" Sawyer's soft voice sounds from my side. I turn, my eyes wide. His face is pale and his lips are turned down at the corner. He's worried too, and his anxiety only serves to pour fire under mine. My stomach clenches. "Will you be okay?" he asks.

_Will I be okay?_ I'm not sure. The next few minutes will decide the rest of my life, and considering how foul my husband's mood currently is that is a terrifying thought.

"Has he been like this since I left?"

Sawyer's expression is wry. "Mrs Grey, you know there is nothing I can say here that isn't going to get me in trouble."

I understand his position, but I'm seriously concerned about Christian. He's usually forceful, but the level of anger in his tone is frightening. I think I have broken him.

"I'll be in Taylor's office," Sawyer says. "Let me know when you are ready to leave."

I manage a weak smile, despite the fact my heart is pounding beneath my ribs. "Thank you, Luke."

He makes a quick exit and I'm left alone in the foyer. I drag my fingers through my hair and take a deep breath.

_I can do this... I can do this... I can do this..._

Slowly, I start to move up the hallway into the main living space, seeking my husband. He's on the phone again, but I'm not sure who to. His voice is raised and his words just as vulgar and harsh as before. He's making my ears bleed with all his swearing. I try to block him out and focus on my surroundings instead.

The apartment looks exactly the same as it did before I left – not that I expected it to change in twenty-four hours – but it _feels_ different, tainted by Christian's rejection and by the tense, hurtful atmosphere we have created over the last fortnight. No wonder Taylor and Sawyer are willing to risk Christian's wrath by bringing me here; we have been a nightmare to live with.

I pause in the main living space and glance around the familiar room with a heavy heart, my gaze pausing on the piano sat in the window. Fond memories of my husband playing it dance through my mind and I find myself smiling sadly as I remember him making love to me on it. Will we ever get that back – that passion, that fire? I miss him so much it hurts.

Leaning my hands against the huge floor to ceiling windows, I stare out at the Seattle skyline. The view is spectacular, and in a couple of hours when the sunsets it will be like looking out into a twinkling sea of light. For a moment, I lose myself in the cityscape, and I can imagine everything is fine between my husband and I.

"Ana, what the fuck...?" Christian's voice startles me. I jump guiltily and spin around, my heart pounding.

He's stood on the far side of the room wearing a pair of gray sweatpants low on his hips and a white t-shirt. His hair is flopped over his forehead, dripping into his eyes. He looks exhausted and tense, but whole and as beautiful as ever. It takes all my resolve not to rush over and throw myself at him.

"Why are you here?" he demands, irritation lacing his words. I swallow hard and steel my voice, determined not to show any weakness.

"We need to talk."

His lips pull into a tight line and his eyes narrow.

"I seem to recall telling you we can talk when I return from Taiwan. I don't have time to deal with this crap now." The coldness in his voice startles me, and it cuts deep into my soul. I let out a shocked breath and shake my head at him.

_Please don't shut me out, Christian. _

"This can't wait until you get back," I persist. If he wants a fight, I'll give him one, and I won't back down like Ros or one of his employees.

He scowls. "We have about... oh, eight months before we have to deal with _anything_, so it can wait, and it will. I have absolutely _nothing_ to say to you right now."

He moves into the kitchen and drags the fridge open with more force than is necessary. I wrap my arms around my middle and watch him tear around, slamming cupboard doors and huffing loudly as he pours himself a large glass of red wine.

There is something off about him, but I can't pinpoint what it is. His gestures seem over exaggerated and he's muttering under his breath as he moves around. Something is definitely going on. He slams the wine bottle on the counter so hard I don't know how it doesn't break. I flinch, my eyes widening.

"What did you offer to keep him quiet about you coming here?"

For a moment I'm confused, but then I realize what he is talking about. "Don't bring Sawyer into our problems, Christian."

"I should fucking fire his ass for withholding information from me. He's my employee, not yours."

I raise my brow. "Oh, wow, you really are a jerk, aren't you? First of all, he is a person, not just a name in your personnel files. Sawyer would throw himself into the path of a bullet for either one of us, Christian. Show some respect for the guy."

"That's his job, Ana."

I roll my eyes at him. He really is a stubborn ass. "His job or not, we both know he would do it willingly. And if you even try to fire him for doing what I asked, I'll just rehire him."

He stares at me incredulously. "You wouldn't dare."

"Don't test me, Christian. That man is more than just your employee. As is Taylor, as is Mrs Jones. When you've stopped being so ornery, you might want to remember everything he's done for you - for us."

He does at least have the good graces to look ashamed.

"So why are you here?"

"This is my home, Christian," I snap irritably.

"Obviously," he drawls, and once again I'm taken aback by the venom in his voice.

"Are you really going to be such an asshole tonight? I came to talk, to try and sort things out, but if you're going to be so horrible then I'll go."

He scowls.

"You are by far the most frustrating woman I've ever met. You seem to go out of your way at every opportunity to defy me and do your own thing, and then you act as if I am the one in the wrong when you have broken the terms of our agreement."

"I didn't realize we'd drawn up an agreement for me to stay away."

"I told you I couldn't see you because I'm fucking busy, and yet here you are anyway." His lip curls into a snarl. "Do you enjoy making me angry, Mrs Grey? Because if you want to see me angry, I can show you angry."

I narrow my eyes at him, and realization dawns on me suddenly. I know why he's acting strange.

"You're drunk," I accuse.

I don't know how I missed it before, but he is weaving on his feet and his eyes have a slightly glazed look. I've only ever seen Christian drunk a handful of times – the last of which was a fortnight ago when I first told him I was pregnant. He'd ended that drinking session with Elena Lincoln. At least this time he is still in the apartment. It explains why Taylor is concerned enough to lie to him about my coming, though. He's worried, and in all honesty so am I. Christian doesn't drink to get drunk. The fact he is doing so now is a bad sign.

"So? What if I am?" He sounds like a petulant teenager, rather than a 28 year old business mogul.

I sigh and run my hand over my forehead. I hate trying to talk with him when he's like this.

"It's only 6pm, Christian." He rolls his eyes at me and takes a long glug of wine. It's a defiant, petulant move which makes my irritation rise further. "Drinking isn't the answer," I hiss.

I barely see his hand move, but the sound of the bottle hitting the wall is deafening. Instinctively, I cover my head, although it does not smash anywhere near me. Glass explodes onto the floor, spraying across the room in an epically dramatic fashion and red rivulets wend down the wall like crimson tear trails. I stand transfixed, watching the wine run down our bright cream walls before carefully sliding my gaze toward Christian.

"Then what is the fucking answer?" he snaps, and I take a step back, needing the safety distance offers. "Our life is screwed beyond all recognition, Ana. Babies, diapers, vomit, shit – you think we're ready for that? I sure as hell don't. How the fuck could you do this to us? I mean, how goddamn hard is it to remember to get a shot once every three months?" He takes a steadying breath, trying to calm his anger and when he speaks again he does seem a little more in control. "Did you do this on purpose?"

Oh, _wow._.. This, again. Does he really think I would stoop that low?

"I cannot believe you are asking me this again."

He shifts his shoulders. "It's a legitimate question," he stumbles over his words a little, and I can see his eyes are heavier than when he first came into the room. "You wouldn't be the first woman to marry a rich guy and use a kid to get as much alimony out of the divorce as possible. Without a pre-nup, you're pretty much guaranteed half of everything."

I'm not sure how I manage to restrain my temper. I've never been much for violence, but right now I could punch him so hard. Ray taught me a few things and I'm pretty sure I could smack him around the head before he could even react, but I'm pregnant, and brawling with my drunken husband doesn't seem like a good idea.

"You son of a bitch," I growl instead. "You goddamn jerk! Do you really think I would get pregnant to bleed you dry? I was dreading telling you, Christian – the whole day I felt sick to my stomach because I knew rather than being excited like a normal person you would react like an asshole about the whole thing, and boy was I right!" I pace angrily, struggling to rein in my temper. _I am pissed_. I want to throttle him. "You know, this wasn't exactly part of my plan either! You think I want a kid at twenty-two? I have a career I like, and a marriage I've barely experienced. The last thing I want is a kid, but tough! Life doesn't always give you what you want."

"Life gives exactly what you want if you remember birth control, Ana," he says with derision.

I explode. "The fucking shot failed, Christian! It was a faulty batch so it didn't cover me properly. If you don't believe me fucking speak to Dr Greene."

Christian scowls at me. "Watch your language!"

I clench my jaw so tightly it hurts. _Hypocritical bastard_.

"Don't tell me to watch my language! I'm not your sub, Christian; if I want to fucking swear, I will!" He rolls his eyes at my flagrant disregard for his orders.

"I am perfectly well aware of who you are, Ana," he says coolly.

"Then stop treating me like I'm an obstinate child! This wasn't my fault, but even if it was I won't apologize for it, and I won't let you continue to guilt me about it. I love this baby – _our_ baby – but if you don't want to be a part of your son's or daughter's life then I'll do it without you. Unlike your mom, I won't leave my baby to fend for itself."

It's a low blow, bringing up his mother, but I don't know how else to penetrate his thick skull. I want him to be involved in this child's life, and I'm not above using guilt to ensure that happens.

For a moment I see his confusion, his vulnerability and his yearning for me. A glimmer of hope runs through me. He still feels something... I release the breath I've been holding. His shoulders sag and he deflates in front of my eyes. There is raw emotion in his voice when he speaks.

"You left me, Ana. After you promised you wouldn't, you left me. If you have this baby, I'll always be second best. I already am."

I soften a little at his anguish. _Oh, Fifty... can't you see how much I love you? How much everyone around you loves you?_ I hate that he still has such a low opinion of himself after all this time, but I also hate that he uses his insecurities to justify his bad behavior.

"I'm sorry I left, but it was unbearable here." Tears prick my eyes at the memory and course down my cheeks unbidden. "You were so cold, so angry toward me; I couldn't stand it. But being without you...? Christian, that is hell. I've never felt worse. I love you so much, and I need you more than you'll ever know. But having a baby is not going to change my feelings for you. I will always love you, but I'll always love our child too – as your mom should have done. Christian, you can't make me chose between both of you. Don't you see how unfair you asking me to do that is?"

He doesn't respond, merely stares at the counter, doubt emblazoned on his face.

"Christian..." I whisper, hoping to break through the haze. It's killing me being so close to him and unable to touch him. I move unconsciously toward him, crossing the living space into the kitchen, and to my amazement he steps back.

"Don't," he warns, fear flashing in his eyes. That it is directed at me makes my heart stop.

_What's wrong with him? _

"Don't what?" I ask, alarmed.

"Come near me." He says it so quietly I barely hear him, but those three little words stop me in my tracks. My whole world disintegrates around me. He doesn't want me near him? Oh god, is this it? Is this the end of our marriage? The world spins around me and I feel sick to my stomach.

"Is this your way of asking for a divorce?" I question in a voice which does not sound like mine.

He blanches. "Of course not!"

I'm confused, but I breathe a sigh of relief. At least he is not thinking about long term separation, and that gives me hope. "Then why do you want me to stay away?"

He glances down at his glass and squeezes his eyes shut as if he is in physical pain. "Because I'm afraid-" He breaks off and scrubs a hand down his face. The fact he is trembling makes my stomach flip.

"Of what?" I press, although I'm not sure I want to know anymore. What could he possibly be this afraid of?

"Of what I want to do to you, Ana."

_Oh... _Jesus. His response is unexpected and sends an icy chill through me.

"And what do you want to do to me?" I am barely breathing as I ask it, but I need to know.

"Punish you - hard."

I swallow the lump in my throat, recalling the last time he'd punished me. He'd tortured me, building me up to orgasm and preventing me from finding release over and over until my body had been in agony. It was the first time I'd used the safe word, and it was the first time I'd ever been truly frightened of my husband. It is not an experience I want to repeat.

"Christian..." I start and trail off. How do I respond to that? What can I possibly say to fix my Fifty Shades of fucked-up husband and stop him wanted to beat the living hell out of my ass?

Part of me wants to do whatever he needs so I can come home, but I don't trust him not to cross the line when he's angry. However, the thought of the red room stirs lust in my traitorous pelvis. He's been withheld from me for a fortnight and my need for him is overriding common sense. I try to convince myself that it won't be as bad as last time, that he won't subject me to that level of torment again, but the raw emotion in his expression tells me otherwise: he wants to hurt me, he _needs_ to hurt me.

I tuck my hair behind my ears and move closer to him, steeling myself. He watches me warily, his hands fisting around the edge of the kitchen counter. _Please don't push me away, Christian. _As I approach him, I can't help but notice how white his knuckles are, and I want to pry his hands off the surface.

"Christian, do you really think I need punishing for this?"

I take his hand carefully, ignoring the way he twitches, and place it on my flat stomach. Blip is just that – a blip – but I want him to reconnect with the situation, to understand that this baby is not a bad thing.

"Yes."

He averts his gaze and tries to pull his hand away, but I maintain my grip. "Why?"

He gives me a confused look. "You know why."

I raise my brow. "Because I'm pregnant and you had no control over that?"

"Yes, because you're fucking pregnant," he snaps. "We're not ready to be parents – I'm not ready."

I cock my head to the side. "If people only had babies when they were ready, the world would be a very empty place."

I know deep down he will never forgive himself if he runs away from this and fails his son or daughter in the same way his mother failed him. I won't let him do that to himself. I'm not above resorting to underhand methods of bringing him around to this if I have to – the first port of call, Grace. If anyone can talk sense into Christian, it's his adoptive mom.

"Ana, no... I can't..." His eyes widen and panic flares in them.

"Because you think you want to hurt me?" I question. "Do you remember that day in the red room when I safe-worded?" He pales at the memory of what he did, and I can tell he is mentally reliving it. "You remember how you felt?"

His Adam's apple bobs up and down spasmodically and I almost feel guilty about the level of anguish I'm causing him. But this is necessary. He needs to understand that punishing me won't make him feel the absolution he thinks it will.

"Ana, I never want to feel like that again."

"Hold on to that feeling because if you take me into that room to punish me that is exactly how you'll feel. You might enjoy it at the time, it might even be cathartic, but when you look down at the marks across my back and my legs, and recall the fact I'm pregnant with your child, you'll feel like shit. But if you need me to, I'll do it. I'll walk into that room, I'll let you bind me and I'll let you do what you need to." I lick my lips, and pause. I'm not sure how far I can take this – how far I should take this. Christian's expression is falling further and further, and I can see the torment growing, but I know this is the only way to reach him. I take a deep breath and take the plunge. "And afterward, I'll let you wash the blood off me and clean up my welts."

All the color drains from his face. "Is that what you think I'll do to you? Hurt you so badly there will be blood?"

"Physical pain, withholding orgasms... they're different sides of the same coin. Both are torture to me, Christian, but if you need this, if you want this, I'll do it. I want us to be okay, and I want to come home."

"I'm not ready to be a father, Ana." He drags his hands through his hair vigorously. "What if I fail?"

And my suspicions are confirmed. He is worried about the type of father he will be. He is worried about becoming like his mother.

"You won't fail. I won't let you." He gazes at me with such raw emotion, such anxiety, such fear, my entire body clenches. "Christian, you'll be a wonderful father. You'll be everything this child needs."

I lean up on my toes and press my lips to his. He doesn't respond immediately, so I kiss the edge of his mouth, moving down his strong jawline to the dip in his neck. He tilts his head to the side, a low appreciative thrum sounding in his throat.

"Ana, stop..." he murmurs, but he doesn't try to push me away as my hands ghosts down his chest, lower and lower. He squeezes his eyes shut, swallowing hard.

"I need you, Mr Grey," I whisper as I undo his jeans, pushing them down his thighs.

Then his tongue is in my mouth. It's hot and heavy, and full of desperate longing. He pushes me against the counter hard enough to make me gasp and hoists me onto the edge. I part my thighs as his hands pull at my blouse. Carnal need overtakes us both; two weeks without each other turns us into feral animals. I pull his bottom lip between my teeth as he frees my breasts from my bra.

I push into his waiting hands, and break our kiss to tilt my head back, moaning. My entire body is vibrating and I can barely breathe as he caresses my sensitive breasts, gently blowing and sucking on my nipples. He pushes me back so I'm lying on the counter, my head dangling over one end, my legs over the other.

His intensity is growing, and his touch is heavier. He kisses up my stomach, my sides and finally finds my neck. I wince as he squeezes my left breast, the tender flesh aching under his hand. I can't prevent the whimper that escapes my lips_. Shit, that hurt. _I knew breast tenderness was a part of pregnancy, but that was painful.

He stops immediately, pushing back from me like a cornered animal, his expression haunted. "Oh, God, Ana, I'm sorry."

Shame flares in his cheeks and he fists his hands into his hair so viciously I'm worried he might pull chunks of it out.

"Christian, stop." I try to grab his hands, trying to prevent him hurting himself_,_ but he staggers back from me. My heart clenches as I drop my hands to my side. "Please..."

"I can't do this anymore. I can't keep worrying I might hurt you. I _can't_."

He turns and flees the room, leaving me alone in the kitchen, half-undressed, my passion doused, my emotions in turmoil. What the hell am I supposed to do now? How can I possibly save my marriage? How can I possibly survive without my husband? I can't, and I don't want to. I slide down the wall onto the floor, pull my knees up to my chest and sob uncontrollably.


	4. Chapter 4

**PART FOUR**

_Tuesday 27 September, 2011_

There is glass everywhere. I'm kneeling among the debris attempting to mop up the burgundy wine pool spreading across the floor, but I'm failing miserably. The towel is already soaked through and all I'm doing is moving the puddle around. A wave of despair washes over me. I'm so useless, I can't even clean up properly. No wonder Christian doesn't want me.

The thought reduces me to a gibbering wreck, my sobbing intensifying until I can't see anything but watery apparitions.

"Ana?"

I try to wipe away my tears and for a brief second manage to clear my vision enough to see Gail's concerned face in front of me. I didn't hear her enter, but Ryan is stood behind her, a handful of grocery bags clutched to his chest. He immediately goes on alert as he takes in the destruction and my tearful form. I'm grateful I covered myself back up after mine and Christian's brief tryst, but I can do nothing to hide my embarrassment at being caught in hysterics.

"I-I'm sorry about the m-mess," I sob, trying harder to clean up the glass and wine, but still failing. What is wrong with me? Why can't I do anything?

Mrs Jones gently circles a hand around my wrist and stops me. "You'll render me obsolete if you do all my cleaning, Ana."

I snort and hiccough at her light humor, but I relinquish the sodden cloth to her.

"I don't think I'm doing much in the way of cleaning anyway," I sniffle.

She gives me a warm smile. "You are doing just fine, honey." She raises her gaze to Ryan, who seems to have relaxed now he's certain the chaos is not an intruder or something he needs to attack. "Ryan, can you please fetch a clean towel from the cupboard in the bathroom, and find the first aid kit. I think there's one in Jason's office."

First aid kit? As I glance down at my hands, I realize why she's asked for one. There is blood pumping from a long cut on my left palm. My gray pencil skirt is stained crimson in places and is probably destroyed beyond repair. I frown at the thought; I'm fairly sure its a $400 garment.

"I'm bleeding," I say obviously, cupping my injured hand to my chest, watching with wide eyes as blood trails down my wrists and over the side of my hands. No wonder Ryan looked so concerned. I can only imagine how I must have looked on my knees, surrounded by glass, bleeding profusely. "I... I must have cut myself trying to clean up the mess." I frown. "I didn't feel it..."

"We'll have it cleaned in no time, but for now shall we get off the floor? This cold wood isn't doing anything for my knees, and it's definitely not doing anything for the baby."

I blink at the mention of Blip. How can something so amazing, so precious be the source of so much hurt and pain? It doesn't make any sense to me. Why can't Christian be happy, be normal? I push those thoughts from my mind and try to remember that the damage inflicted on him by his crack whore mother is not his fault, and that his actions are just a defense mechanism to protect himself, but when he's hurting me it's hard to be rational.

Mrs Jones has me on my feet and is steering me toward a stool at the breakfast bar. I slide onto the leather and lean my bloodied hand on the counter. I'm mesmerized by the amount of blood pumping from my hand, and for a moment I think it mirrors my marriage which is slowly draining away. Soon there will be nothing of our relationship left to save, and that is a sobering thought.

"He's never going to want me back..." I've spoken before I realize its out loud. I flush from the roots of my hair. "Oh, I'm sorry, Gail; you don't need to hear this." I swallow my sobs down.

"Oh, hon, I know it feels like this is the end and like nothing can ever go back to the way it was, but it will." It's an empty promise. She cannot possibly know that, but nevertheless her assurance makes me feel calmer.

Ryan reappears long enough to hand her a clean towel and the first aid kit. An unspoken understanding passes between them and with a swift nod of his head, he heads into Taylor's office.

Carefully, Mrs Jones opens the first aid kit and pulls out some gauze and a vial of saline. She places the towel on the counter, and gestures for me to put my injured hand on top.

She gives me a kind smile as she gently positions the saline vial between her fingers. "This might hurt a little." She pours the sterile solution onto the wound, washing the blood downward. I hiss. It stings.

"Sorry," she murmurs, but she doesn't stop, which I'm glad of. Like ripping a band-aid off, saltwater cleaning needs to be done quickly.

"I don't know what to say anymore to make him see sense," I sniffle. "I've tried everything."

Mrs Jones doesn't speak for a moment, her attention locked on the now clean cut.

"Sometimes words are not important," she says cryptically. "It is actions which resonate."

"Actions?" I repeat, my brow furrowing. What else can I do to prove I love him and want him? I came home against his orders and I tried to reason with him. I've fought for him tooth and nail, but nothing has worked.

But then I'm reminded of something Ray once said after him and my mom split up. _"Sometimes people don't realize what they've got till it's gone... and by then, Annie, it's too damn late to get it back..." _

At the time I was just a kid and I didn't really know what he meant, but as an adult facing the very real possibility of my marriage failing, I know what he was saying that day. But I left Christian and I showed him what he had, and what he lost; he's still indifferent.

"I already left him."

"But was it an empty gesture?"

"I don't know." I'd been pretty serious about it at the time, but then I'm here twenty-four hours later trying to fix things. Maybe it was empty, and maybe my husband knew that.

"Ah, it's not as bad as it looks," she says, breaking my thoughts. It takes me a second to realize she's talking about my hand. Without the bubbling blood, I can see the wound isn't very deep, but it is jagged and ugly. "It won't need stitching."

I let out a sigh of relief. The last thing I want to do is spend the next few hours waiting in the ER. Mrs Jones carefully binds my wound with the gauze, threading the soft material around my hand, leaving my thumb and fingers free.

"I'm sorry for the mess," I apologize when she's finished. Mrs Jones merely shifts her shoulders.

"Don't be." She cleans up the supplies and closes the first aid box. "Is there anything I can get you?"

_A less stubborn and damaged husband..._ I sigh. "No, thank you. I just want to be alone."

She nods and gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze before heading off toward her room. I place a hand on my stomach and close my eyes. I have to be strong for the baby. I have to because I won't give it up. I can't. I steel myself as the realization sets in that I'm going to have to do this alone. It's been a fortnight since I delivered the news of my pregnancy to Christian and he has not softened one iota, and I don't see him doing so. If I want to keep our son or our daughter, I will have to do it without my husband.

Pushing up off the stool, I wander toward our bedroom. I pause in the doorway and glance around the familiar surroundings. Tears prick my eyes but I wipe them away angrily. I won't shed any more tears for Christian, and I won't beg him for forgiveness. This baby is coming, like it or not, and if he won't support me then we're done.

I dig out one of our suitcases from the back of the walk-in closet and open it on the bed. I packed somethings when I left last night, but only enough for a few days. Now, I'm packing for longer. I manage to fit most of my favorite pieces of clothes into the case, but I've barely emptied a third of my wardrobe. Christian likes to buy me clothes, but standing here, the amount seems obscene. No one needs this many garments.

Extending the handles of the case, I drag it into the living room and stand it up. I duck into Taylor's office and glance around. Ryan and Sawyer are stood over Taylor's desk talking over schedules for the week. Prescott is leaning on the edge of the desk, arms folded, serious as ever, and Reynolds is watching the monitors in the corner of the room. Each tiny six inch screen shows a corner of the apartment. My eyes are instantly drawn to one in the middle which shows Christian pacing on the phone. _Oh, Fifty..._

Taylor raises his gaze to me. "Mrs Grey?"

I clear my throat, flushing as though I've been caught somewhere I shouldn't be – despite the fact this is my home. The other security turn their attention toward me too.

"I'll be ready to leave in a moment."

Taylor's expression is unhappy, but he nods. "Luke will stay with you for a few hours and then Ryan will take the night shift."

"Thank you, Taylor." I pause. "Please take care of my husband in Taiwan."

"Always," he says, meeting my gaze and I can see that he genuinely means it.

I turn on my heel and leave the room. Then I go to find my husband.

He's still on the phone, pacing the floor of his office, and for a moment I feel exposed knowing Reynolds is watching the monitors. I hate that he will see this unfold, but since the moment I met Christian I've never had anything resembling privacy.

"For god sake, Ros, what the hell is he doing this for now? We're flying out in the fucking morning! There is no time to renegotiate." One hand rests on his hip, the other holds the handset to his ear. His head is slightly bowed and his expression is pained.

I hover in the doorway, watching his limber frame sag as he listens to his assistant on the line. He hasn't seen me yet and for a moment I'm content to leave my presence unnoticed so I can admire his body for what may be the last time. The thought of being without him cuts through my soul, but I can't keep playing these games with him. I'm pregnant, and I have to think of the baby; this amount of stress is not good for either of us.

I take a deep breath before I cross the floor toward Christian's large oak desk. He glances up as I approach, but keeps talking.

"This deal has to go ahead. What does he want in exchange?" he says into the phone, but his eyes are locked on my face. I avert my gaze, knowing I'll crumble if I meet his. Being this close to him is difficult enough, but knowing this could be the last time as a married couple leaves a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. "Yeah, well, he knows we can't do that."

I hear the curiosity in his voice as he watches me navigate around his office. I don't pay him any heed. Carefully, I slip my wedding ring and then my engagement ring off my finger. The digit already feels weird, feels lighter without them, but I tell myself I'll get used to it; I have no choice.

"Speak to Barney – see if he can maybe do something with their systems to sweeten him."

I feel his eyes burrowing holes into me, but I still do not meet his gaze as I purposefully place the rings on the top of the desk. As I turn I raise my eyes to his.

"Goodbye Christian," I say softly.

It takes all my resolve not to flee the room in tears, but somehow I manage to walk out without collapsing into a heap.

"Ros, I'm going to have to call you back," I hear him saying urgently. "No, I don't give a fuck about the deal – it'll wait. I know this is the biggest sale of the year and I know how much is riding on it but I'm..."

I don't hear what he says because I've left the room and am moving quickly through the apartment. If he catches up with me, I'll break down.

Sawyer is waiting by the front door with my case when I emerge.

"Let's go," I tell him urgently.

I don't stop moving until I reach the elevator, and I only stop then because I have no where else to go. I push the call button and then push it again a second later impatiently.

"Where are we going?" Sawyer asks, standing my case up at his side. His expression is bemused and a little concerned.

That's a good question, and one I don't have an answer to. I can't stay indefinitely at Kate and Elliot's, but I don't have an abundance of friends I can impose on in Seattle either. I give a brief thought to going to my mom's but I dismiss it immediately. I need my job more than ever now... If I still have a job, that is; Christian does own my company after all. He can fire me with a phone call. The thoughts makes me feel uncomfortable.

"What the hell is this?" Christian demands from behind me. He doesn't sound angry, just confused and hurt.

I turn reluctantly to face him. He's holding the rings between his index finger and thumb, thrusting them almost accusingly in my direction. The look on his face nearly destroys me, but I force my walls up, and when I speak I'm proud there is only the slightest hint of emotion in my voice.

"It's my wedding band and engagement ring," I tell him slowly, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.

He scowls. "I know it's your wedding band, Ana, but why the hell is it not on your finger?"

Sawyer looks as if he wants the ground to swallow him up. He goes to move, intending to head back inside to give us some space, but I grab for his arm.

"Don't," I snap harsher than I intend, but I know if he leaves me with Christian, I'll fall to pieces. "This won't take long," I tell him, softening my voice slightly.

"What won't take long?" Christian asks.

I lick my lips and steel myself for what I'm about to say – and do. My stomach roils, but I don't know what else to do. Mrs Jones said actions speak louder, and giving him back my ring is my last ditch attempt at making him see sense – or to prove to him that he's making the right decision. I try to push the latter from my mind.

"You've made it clear you want nothing to do with us, so I'll raise the baby myself – without you." I don't know how I say it without crying, but I am even more surprised that there is anger in my voice. Although I shouldn't be; when I think about it I am furious at him. "Once I've found a place of my own, I'll let you know the address to send the rest of my things over."

His face pales. "You want a divorce?" It is the same question I asked him earlier, only unlike him I don't say no.

"I'll always love you, but I can't keep doing this." I give him a sad smile which is more than genuine; my heart is literally breaking into a million pieces, but somehow I'm keeping it together. "Be safe on your trip."

The elevator pings, and the doors slide open. I step in and force myself to stand straight. It takes all my will not to sag against the back wall and collapse into a heap.

"Mr Grey...?" Sawyer is looking between us, seeking instructions. For a moment I feel sorry for him; he cannot win here. If he goes with me, he's betraying Christian, if he asks Christian's permission to leave he's betraying me, but neither of us are paying attention to him.

"You really want to leave?" Christian asks. There is panic in his expression, and I'm surprised to see tears in his eyes. They don't fall, but the fact they are there at all is gut-wrenching. It's a fight to hold back my own tears, but I manage to choke them down.

"I don't know what else to do anymore, Christian," I admit.

"Ana..." I've never heard my name invoked in prayer before, but Christian speaks it like the last hope of a dying man. "Please... don't."

I swallow the lump in my throat and Ray's words come back to me. _"Sometimes people don't realize what they've got till it's gone..." _

If he wants to be with me, he has to accept the baby, and I can't force him to do that. It is a decision he has to come to in his own time, without pressure. He has to want to be a father, to be a husband.

"I'll be in my own place by the time your return from Taiwan," I say.

He swallows, and his mask is back up, his defensive barrier back in place. "If this is what you want, I can't stop you. Just go, just fucking _go_!" he yells, and turns on his heels. He slams the front door behind him and I wince.

I want to run after him and scream at him that this is not what I want at all, but I'm paralyzed. _Actions resonate_... That was what Mrs Jones said, and I had hoped for more from my husband, but I don't think I will get it. In many ways he is a child. Dr Flynn described him as an adolescent emotionally, and he is right. Christian doesn't know how to deal with anything, and when things get too difficult, he yells and storms off – much like a teenager would. It's a saddening insight into my husband, and it leaves me wondering if emotionally he will ever be ready for fatherhood. The thought leaves me dejected.

Sawyer steps into the elevator, and then the carriage is speeding toward the bottom of the building. I deflate. I've just left my husband, and not just over night, this has the ring of finality to it.

My cell starts ringing. In the quiet of the elevator makes me start, but I don't make any move to dig the phone out of my purse. It will be Christian and I don't want to speak to him. Hot tears threaten to spill and it takes all my resolve not to let them, but there are cameras in the elevator and I don't want any of the security team to see me distraught. It's bad enough Sawyer is here with me and cannot fail to see my bottom lip wobbling.

The ringing stops for a brief second and then starts again. I ignore it and keep my gaze locked on the descending numbers. When the elevator finally reaches the parking garage, I numbly follow Sawyer. What the hell have I done?

Sawyer opens the trunk of the Audi, and lifts my case in. I reach out to him and stop him as he moves to close the lid.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you before." I don't know why but it seems important to tell him I didn't mean it.

His expression is bemused. "Mrs Grey, there is no need to apologize."

I shrug. "Well, a need or not, I'm still sorry."

He nods and smiles. "I appreciate it, but honestly it is-"

Without warning there is a loud explosion. At least I think it is an explosion. It's deafening. It seems to ricochet around the enclosed garage. I startle, my eyes widening but that is the only reaction I seem able to muster. There is no fire, nothing untoward, just the noise.

Sawyer tilts his head to the side and blinks sluggishly at me, his expression confused. Then I notice the trail of crimson trickling from the corner of his mouth. Everything slows to a crawl. He closes his eyes and takes a wet breath.

"Sawyer?" I barely breathe his name.

He lists forward, sagging against me. Instinctively, I throw my arms around him to keep him upright, but he's too heavy and we both collapse onto the floor. And that's when I see it... a crimson stain growing across the side of his white shirt, low on his left side. The smell of blood clings to the air but I can also smell something else, something acrid, a smell I know too well from shooting with Ray in the past.

I raise my gaze from his prone form and lock onto a figure stood a few feet behind us, partly concealed behind a car. His face is covered so I can't see who it is, but I'm not bothered about that at the moment; my attention is firmly locked onto the barrel of the small handgun pointing at me.

"Mrs Grey?" a voice, salacious and saccharine purrs my name from the side of me. I didn't even see the second man approach, but he's right at my side suddenly, dragging me to my feet. Sawyer makes a bloodied swipe toward me, but he's too badly hurt to move more than that.

My heart is pounding fiercely now beneath my ribs. Sawyer is trying to rise, and has managed to get to his hands and knees. There is blood bubbling on his lips now, trailing down his chin, and I'm sure the bullet has hit his lung. He doesn't have much time, but he's still trying to protect me.

He gets fumbling fingers to his gun and tries to raise it, but his hand trembles, barely moving. The man hiding behind the car emerges and without a hint of emotion puts a bullet into Sawyer's leg. He screams in agony, a sound that cuts through me like fire, but the man behind me is dragging me across the lot.

I struggle against his grip, using every trick Ray taught me, but nothing moves him. He is bigger than me, and I've barely kept any food down for days; I'm weak, but I'm screaming bloody murder. I know if they take me I'm dead.

The shooter leads us over to a black van and climbs in the side door. He pulls the scarf covering his face down and I get the first look at the man who shot Luke Sawyer.

I don't know what I expected to greet me, but there was no scenario that included Jack Hyde staring down at me. My lungs take an aborted breath as fear races through me. _Oh my god. Oh my god._ I'm totally fucked. There is no way this ends well. Jack hates me, and for good reason. I ruined his life.

"How..." I want to ask how he is out of jail, but words fail me. Last I heard he hadn't been granted bail after the fire in Christian's server room, but he is here... Alive, well, and full of hate.

He canters his head to the side, a dark grin crossing his face. He looks older, like he's lived a hundred lives since I last saw him. He's got week's worth of facial hair covering his jaw and upper lip, but his eyes are bright and fierce, and filled with vengeance.

Without warning he lashes out a fist. My left cheek takes the brunt of the blow but it is enough to stagger me. It is only the grip of his companion that keeps me upright. He smirks and raises his gaze to the man.

"Time to go," Hyde says.

"Please, Sawyer... he needs help..." I gasp.

Before I can even register what is happening a needle is stuck into my arm, and cold liquid is diffusing through my cells.

I know I only have a short window of time before whatever they injected me with takes full effect, and I plan on using it. Ray taught me how to fight and I'm glad he did. I kick out my feet blindly and catch Jack. He swears, but I'm still being held by his friend. I throw my head back against him, and I think I catch the bottom of his jaw. Light explodes in my head, but the grip on my arms vanish.

Instantly, my legs give way, but somehow I scrabble to my feet and I stagger toward the elevator. My movements are uncoordinated and I'm barely able to stand, but I'm free and I'm moving. The thought allows a small tendril of hope to blossom inside me.

That hope is short-lived.

Something hard collides with my side and I hit the ground heavily. The air is blasted from my lungs and I know Jack's friend has hit me full force. Pain vibrates up my arm and through my left side as I lie face down on the ground. I've missed my chance to escape, and I know it. The drug is in my system fully now and my vision is starting to darken around the edges. I'm going to pass out any second and the thought makes me panic. Jack is a misogynistic pig who hates me. If he gets me in that van, I'm screwed.

But he has the advantage. My eyes are almost closed completely now, and as I lie on the concrete floor of the parking garage, breathing in the smell of oil, all I can think about is my baby and my husband, but that time is gone. I don't see any way I can survive this.

Hands circle under my armpits and drag me upward. The movement from horizontal to vertical almost makes me vomit, but I manage to control my stomach as those same arms loop around me, pulling my shoulders back, restraining me against a wall of muscle. I try to buck against the grip, but my movements are becoming sluggish and less fevered. I'm fighting a losing battle on both fronts: strength and consciousness.

"Get her in the fucking van!" Jack hisses. "Grey's security team will be watching..."

There are cameras in the garage, but I don't know if Christian has access to them. It's a communal parking area, not just ours. But it doesn't matter; they think he does, and I hope to hell he does. I know Christian won't reach me in time to stop my abduction, but he can at least reach Sawyer before he dies.

"Please... don't do this, Jack... Think about what you're doing..." I gasp as Jack moves forward to help his associate get me into the van. My legs are liquid and I'm barely holding onto consciousness so it doesn't take much maneuvering to get me inside.

There is a single mattress on the floor of the van. It's stained and filthy. Jack pushes me face down onto it and straddles my legs. Most of my body is numb now, and I have no idea how I am still conscious, but it doesn't stop him pulling my arms behind my back more viciously than is necessary. I whimper into the mattress.

"Comfy?" Jack growls in my ear as the unmistakable cold metal of handcuffs snap tightly around my wrists. I'm no stranger to being bound, but this is different. This isn't Christian tying me up to increase my pleasure; this is Jack Hyde. The anticipation I normally feel at being cuffed has turned to intense fear and my chest is heaving.

The side door is pulled shut with a deafening clank and then Jack's accomplice climbs into the front cab and starts the van. My panic is rising. There is no last second rescue coming; I'm about to be abducted by a man who despises me; I don't even want to think about what will await me when I wake.

"Why are you doing this, Jack?" I ask. My eyes are closed, and I'm barely hanging on.

"Because I want you both to pay." He leans closer to my ear, his chest pressing against my back. "I'm going to kill you, and I'm going to make your husband watch, and then I'm going to blow his fucking brains out."

And that's the last thing I hear before I submit to the darkness and lose consciousness.


	5. Chapter 5

**PART FIVE**

_Tuesday 27 September, 2011_

The first thing I register is pain. Blinding, agonizing pain. My head is throbbing viciously, and there is a deep ache in my chest that seems to radiate down my left side toward my hip. Slowly, I pry my lids apart and am met with a maelstrom of colors. I shut them immediately and swallow the bile working its way up my throat. I feel like I've been hit by a semi, reversed over and then hit again.

It's a few minutes before I risk trying to open my eyes once more. The room is still spinning and my head still feels fuzzy, but my faculties are slowly returning. My mind reboots cautiously, trying to make sense of everything.

The first thing I'm aware of is I'm lying prone, cold concrete beneath me. I'm freezing, bone-cold, in fact. I shiver uncontrollably as I try to move my legs, but all I manage is a feeble twitch. Why can't I move? And why is the room rolling around me?

My eyes slide shut of their own volition and I drift, riding the waves of dizziness to unconsciousness. There is a blissful calm in the darkness, and I embrace it for as long as I can, letting all my pain dissipate into the ether.

When I finally come around again my face is numb and my mouth feels like I've swallowed a handful of cotton balls.

Without any warning, my stomach cramps fiercely and I barely manage to lift my head off the floor as burning acid explodes out my mouth. I heave over and over, my stomach contracting violently as I puke water and bile. I've barely kept anything down for the last fortnight so there is little to bring up. It's agony, and it leaves me exhausted.

Shaking, I manage to roll onto my side away from the vomit, but the movement leaves me gasping for breath. I draw my legs up to my chest, curling into a fetal position and concentrate on slowing the throbbing agony in my skull.

I blink carefully, trying to clear the haze from my vision as a figure appears in my line of sight, looming over me. Flight is my body's first line of defense. The overwhelming need to flee from the perceived danger threatens to overpower all reason. I try to move away, but my limbs are weak and heavy. I manage to crawl a few inches before strong hands latch onto my arms and I'm dragged unceremoniously onto my feet.

The movement from horizontal to vertical reduces me to a jelly-legged mess. Nausea threatens my aching stomach again, and I close my eyes to stave off another round of vomiting. My knees buckle beneath my weight, refusing to hold me upright. Everything feels weird and detached, and I figure I'm only standing because of the bruising grip on my biceps.

I'm pushed into a hard-backed chair and my arms are pulled roughly behind me. The cold kiss of metal touches my wrists, clamping around both limbs, and then my ankles.

_Cuffs... I'm being handcuffed to the chair..._This is bad. This is really, really bad. Fear stirs in the pit of my stomach. What the hell is going to happen to me?

I need to escape this nightmare. I need to get away from here... Now.

I shift my wrists, twisting feebly against my restraints, but that is all I can muster. The movement leaves me exhausted, my energy spent, my body empty. My eyes are gritty and starting to close again. So much for running; I can barely stay awake.

Pain ricochets through my cheek suddenly and my face burns fiercely. It takes my brain a second to realize I've been struck. I groan and work my jaw, trying to curtail the pain, but it isn't helping.

"No sleeping yet, Mrs Grey," the voice says. It belongs to a male, but it sounds muted and fuzzy, like I'm hearing it underwater. My skull feels loose and floaty, and I'm so dizzy I can barely see straight. I swallow hard, pushing bile down, trying to focus on anything.

"Who are you?" At least that's what I try to say. In reality, I manage nothing more than a garbled slur.

"Shh," the voice says. "Don't try to talk."

"Is she back with us?" another voice asks.

Even through the fog in my brain, I recognize those brash tones: Jack Hyde. The realization makes my stomach twist. How can Jack be here? He was incarcerated following the fire, he shouldn't be here, and I definitely shouldn't be here. All the security and money Christian has access to and yet he still managed to abduct me. The irony of it makes me want to laugh hysterically.

"We gave her too much, Jack."

"The damn drugs are still in her system?" he asks, a hint of surprise lacing his words. "It's been four hours; I want to get started."

Four hours... _It's been four hours?_ Even though I'm barely conscious, I know that is bad. I've watched enough crime TV shows to know the first twenty-four hours are the golden window, the optimum time to recover a kidnap victim. After that the odds of being found alive decrease dramatically. I don't want to end up a statistic, and I don't want to die here.

"Fucking wake her up already," Jack snaps.

"How the hell do you propose I do that? I stuck her with a syringe full of god knows what. It's a wonder she's breathing at all, let alone awake."

"Fuck!" Jack snaps. I try to stay awake and listen to the voices around me, but the drugs are dragging me under again. My vision is blurring and darkness is encroaching around the edges. I give into the empty void, finding solace in the nothingness.

Without warning I'm doused in freezing water. My eyes snap open and a strangled cry escapes my lips as I gasp a heaving breath, my shocked lungs struggling to draw oxygen to feed my pounding heart.

_Holy fuck!_

I'm so cold I can hardly breathe. My body convulses as shock pushes all my senses into overdrive. Needling pain races up my arms, thousands of pin pricks stabbing my skin as goosebumps swell and grow._ Oh, God! The pain._

I pant, leaning dangerously forward in the chair, my wrists straining against the cuffs. My dark hair hangs loosely around my face, curling in tight strands, dripping into my lap. I shiver as the cold air kisses my skin. My blouse is molded to my body, and my skirt is doing little to protect my thighs from the water that is now seeping through.

"_Shit!"_

"Sorry for the rude awakening, Anastasia, but we're on a time schedule here."

Icy chunks settle in my belly as I stare into the hateful eyes of the man who wants me dead: Jack Hyde. Jack Hyde whose life I ruined. Jack Hyde who is supposed to be in jail awaiting trial for arson. Jack Hyde who is somehow stood in front of me, his expression murderous. My lips part in shock and my empty stomach convulses. I am so fucking screwed.

I barely manage to react as Jack's fist pulls back and slams into my face. The hit is brutal and unforgiving, and it leaves my ears ringing. The next hit is just as hard and unprovoked, but I taste iron this time. I run my tongue over my cracked lips and swallow the blood pooling in my mouth.

"Stay awake, Ana," Jack barks. "No sleeping yet."

I force my eyes open, trying to avoid the pain of being hit again, but whatever they injected me with is strong, and it's still coursing through my system. I'm so light headed I can barely see straight and I'm shivering uncontrollably; I feel like hell, and I'm finding it hard to stay alert.

"Are you awake, bitch?" Jack asks, slapping me around the face with a laugh.

_I need to stay awake, I need to stay... _

I blink sluggishly, trying to focus on Jack, on anything. I'm teetering on the brink, so I start talking, hoping it will keep me alert enough to avoid another smack.

"You shot S-Sawyer..." I murmur, my head bowed onto my chest. "Didn't have to... I woulda come with you..."

"I didn't have to?" Jack raises an incredulous brow. "Sure, because your pitbull follower would have let me just saunter off into the sunset with you." He snorts. "Your husband hires his staff well, Ana. Your boy Sawyer would have ripped my throat out with his bare hands if I'd given him the chance. I did what I had to. I wish he hadn't been involved in this, but you're a difficult woman to get on your own since you married Grey."

Clearly not difficult enough, I think, but I hold my tongue, concentrating instead on trying to control my chattering teeth. When I don't answer, Jack continues.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this day. Waiting for your security to screw up and give me the chance to take you. I was amazed at how easy it was."

"It's p-pretty easy when you've g-got a g-gun." I'm shaking so much I can hardly get the words out. In fact, I'm so cold, it is actually becoming painful. The bones in my legs are aching fiercely. I bite my bottom lip, shaking my lower limbs in an attempt to warm myself.

"True," Jack replies, "but I expected more from your little gun-toting pet."

"Jack, stop talking already," his accomplice snaps. "The longer this goes on, the more risk we're taking."

"Fine." He drags his fingers through his hair in a way that reminds me of my husband. Christian does the same thing when he is stressed. "How do you want to do this?"

Something passes between them, but I don't see what it is. Jack clasps the object between his hands, staring at the other man.

"Make the call, Jack."

A phone. It must have been a cell.

"You're sure they can't trace this?"

"It's pre-paid and it's got barely enough buttons on it to be called a phone. No internet, no GPS, no nothing. I was using one of these fifteen years ago. They're not going to be able to trace it," the guy assures him.

"You'd better be right," Jack mutters even as he is dialing. "You'd better be fucking right."

I don't need to be compos mentis to know who he is calling: my husband. A tingle of panic races through me. I left him. I ended our relationship. I gave him back my rings. My husband – my soon to be ex-husband – is proud and stubborn, but he still loves me. There is no doubt in my mind about that, and his love for me will force his hand. He won't let Jack hurt me, and that thought worries me. What lengths will he go to in order to save me or will he just leave me to face Jack alone? I am confused, but there is one thing I do know: regardless of Christian's feelings toward me, I'll do whatever I have to in order to protect him.

"This isn't going to work, Jack."

He stops dialing and canters his head to the side, his expression unreadable. "What won't work, Anastasia?" Jack says, enunciating each word carefully. I can't tell if he's pissed or enjoying himself. Both scenarios fill me with dread regardless.

"Whatever you're trying to do." I swallow.

"And what do you think we're trying to do?"

"Provoke a reaction from Christian." I squint at him, trying to make my unfocused gaze focus on him. "It won't work," I repeat.

"And why the hell not?" the other guy demands.

I swallow the lump in my throat and close my eyes. "Because... because Christian's no longer my husband."

The words are painful to say, but there is a measure of relief in saying them, in admitting to myself that I'm alone. My marriage is over. Christian will never want me pregnant, and he'll never want to share me with a baby. It won't matter that it's his. He's always been the jealous type.

"Jack, what the hell is this bitch talking about? You said she was Grey's wife! That's the only fucking reason I'm here-"

"She's lying," Jack retorts, "she is Grey's wife!"

I take a steadying breath and try to calm my pounding heart. Jack's rage is growing by the second, and part of me knows I should stop poking at the wound, but I can't. As hurt as I am by Christian's actions, I still love him and I won't let Jack hurt him.

"If you'd done your homework, you'd realize I moved out, and that I'm barely speaking to Christian." I'm still slurring my words, but I push on. "Our marriage is over. We're finished..."

I'm dejected by the time I stop talking. I don't want to end my relationship, but I won't give up the baby either; I had hoped that giving Christian back my wedding band would be enough to bring him to his senses, but now I will never find out.

"You're a fucking liar." Jack swings toward my face, but I'm hurtling on.

"Check my finger!" I gasp out before he hits. "I'm not wearing my rings."

Jack slowly lowers his hand. His expression is uncertain. "I don't need to check your finger. I've seen him; Grey is disgustingly besotted with you, Ana. All of Seattle knows it – Christ, half the world knows it."

Jack's accomplice moves around the back of the chair and roughly, he grabs my left hand.

"She's telling the truth, Jack! There's no fucking ring! _Shit!_" He paces the room angrily before launching himself at Jack, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt as he slams him against the wall. I hold my breath, not daring to breathe as I watch the fight through hooded lids. "If she's not his wife then what makes you think he'll pay any kind of ransom demand for her?"

Jack wrenches himself free, and pulls a gun from the back of his waistband – the same gun that shot Sawyer, no doubt, the same gun that could be my end.

The guy isn't stupid; he recognizes the wild look in Jack's eyes, the intensity in his expression and backs off instantly, his hands raised defensively.

"Calm down, man," he tries to placate. "I'm sorry; I just lost it. We're taking a hell of a risk here."

Jack's lips curl into a snarl. "Risk or not, you ever touch me again and I will fucking kill you!" he growls.

"I know, Jack. I know." He scrubs a hand down his face. "We're in this together, right?"

"Right." Jack finally lowers the weapon and slides it back down the waistband of his jeans. I release a breath I didn't know I'd been holding, as does his accomplice. Jack is unpredictable at the best of times; armed seems like a bad combination.

"What do you think it means?" his accomplice asks after a moment.

"What the hell do I think what means?"

"The rings..."

"The fact she's not wearing the rings doesn't prove anything. She was coming out of Grey's apartment, with his security team. You really think he'd pay for security for her if he's divorcing her?"

I frown. I have to make him believe Christian is nothing to me, that he won't pay for me. I'm not entirely sure he will anyway, given the events that transpired shortly before Jack grabbed me.

"I was there to-" I don't manage to say anything more than that. Pain explodes in my side and I feel my ribs shift beneath Jack's fist.

_Shit, shit, __**shit**__!_

White spots spill across my vision as the air leaves my lungs. I can't breathe at all for a moment, only managing a pathetic-sounding wheeze. I'm panicking as I try to suck air into my abused lungs.

I can't fucking breathe. I'm going to suffocate, I'm going to die...

And then just as my eyes are starting to cloud, I manage to drag in a ragged breath and refill my lungs.

Hyde rubs his knuckles, wincing in pain, and I feel a hint of satisfaction that I'm the cause of it – even if I'm in agony now.

"Stop fucking talking, Ana,"

Even if I could talk, I have no intention of trying. He punched me in the chest, but a few inches lower and it would have been my stomach. The thought of Blip glues my tongue firmly to the roof of my mouth. I will not do anything to jeopardize the baby.

But my relief that Grey Junior is still protected is short-lived. My lungs feel constricted, like a host of elastic bands are being tightened around my chest. In fact my left side is becoming increasingly painful every time I inhale.

_What the hell... _

I take measured breaths to control the pain, testing how far I can let my lungs expand before I'm threatened with nausea and head-rolling dizziness. Not far as it turns out. Every inhalation is like breathing shards of glass and trying to breathe deeply leaves me a trembling mess. I resort to taking shallow gulps of air, leaning in the chair a little to ease the pressure on my side. _Oh, god, Jack, what did you do to me? _

"Go, set up," Jack says, gesturing to his companion. "You've got five minutes to make sure everything is air tight before we go live. The Feds'll be all over this, so make sure you don't screw it up."

"I'm not some rank amateur; I know what I'm doing. You just keep your end of the deal and I'll keep mine."

Jack waves his hand dismissively. "Yes, yes; you'll get your money. Just make sure we don't get fucking caught."

"I'll play my part; you do yours."

Jack watches him as he moves into the corner of the room. There is a small table set up and a laptop that I hadn't noticed before. Jack's accomplice sits in front of it and opens the lid, his face shrouded in blue light.

Jack watches him for a moment with a scowl and then turns his gaze to me. "I hope you're lying about the divorce thing, Anastasia," he murmurs quietly to me. "Because if you're telling the truth you are really in big trouble."

I swallow the lump in my throat, my stomach twisting. Is this just about money? No, it can't be. Jack is hellbent on revenge and he won't let me go without handing out some retribution. It might be about money for his accomplice, but for Jack Hyde this is about one thing: making Christian and I suffer. And that makes this situation all the more dangerous.

He redials the number, his eyes locked on my face and as he puts the handset to his ear he grins suddenly.

"Time to talk to your husband, Mrs Grey."


	6. Chapter 6

**PART SIX**

_Tuesday 27 September, 2011_

_**~ Christian ~**_

**_THREE AND A HALF HOURS EARLIER..._**_  
_

I'm angry. I know I don't have a right to be – all things considered – but I can't stop the emotion whirling through me like a tornado. I stare at the two silver bands on my desk top, my lips pulled into a hard-line and try to control the fury racing through me.

_She left me. She **fucking** left me! _

My anger quickly disintegrates and I'm left with an empty, hollow sensation in the pit of my stomach. I have no idea how to fix this. I love my wife, but the kid...? It fucking complicates things. My life already feels out of control as it is; the idea of a baby makes everything feel a thousand times worse. How can I possibly be a good father when I can't even be a good husband?

Shame rolls through me as I think about my behavior over the last fortnight, but I can't change the way I feel. I don't want to be a father – not yet. Maybe not ever; I don't know. I've only had Ana to myself for a short time and I'm not ready to give her up yet.

I exhale deeply and glance around my office, my gaze settling on the photographs Jose took of Ana. She hates the pictures, but I love them, and as much as I dislike the Rodriguez boy, I have to admit he has a good eye. Somehow he captured Ana's innocence and yet her fire. I stare at the images, fixated by her dark hair and the small curve at the corner of her mouth from her half-smile. She is truly beautiful, inside and out, and that thought only adds to my feeling of loathing. How could I be so cruel to her over the last few weeks? How could I push her away so hard? How could I hurt her so much?

I scrub a hand down my face and close my eyes. I've been such an idiot. Going to Elena was my first mistake. Actually, no, my first mistake was my reaction when my wife told me she was pregnant.

My emotions turmoil again. I almost call Ana, my need to talk to her overriding sense, but I'm so conflicted, and I don't want to hurt her more.

Instead, I pick up my cell and dial Flynn's number from memory. I probably should have called him before this, when I first found out. I'm not sure why I didn't, but I hope it's not too late for him to help me. He picks up after three rings.

"_Christian?"_ he sounds concerned. It's probably feigned – I am after all paying him a substantial amount for my therapy – but I don't care; I just need him to do his job and make things clearer in my head.

"She left me, Flynn."

"_Ana left you?" _He sounds surprised, which only increases my sense of self-loathing. Even my shrink thinks my wife can do no wrong. _"Why?"_

"She's pregnant," I stumble over the words, sounding very much like a little boy, full of doubt and uncertainty. I mentally castigate myself. I'm a 28-year-old multimillionaire.

"_I see,"_ he says carefully. _"Is that what caused her to leave?" _

"Yes," I admit.

_"Why?" _

"Because of my reaction."

_"And how did you react?" _

I scowl. "She left! How the fuck do you think I reacted?"

Flynn tries to placate, tries to calm me down, but I'm wound like a coiled spring. My emotions are spiraling out of control and I'm not sure whether I need to explode or shut down.

"_Take a breath, Christian, and lets work through this."_ I want to scream down the phone at him that I've already tried; that's why I'm calling him, because I failed. _"Tell me what happened, what led to her leaving?" _

"I told her to terminate the pregnancy." Saying the words makes my cheeks flame. I don't often suffer embarrassment, but I feel shame that I said those words to my wife. Making her choose between me and the baby was never going to end well.

"_Why?" _Flynn questions, and I can hear the genuine curiosity in his voice. To Flynn, I'm the ultimate case study – the man who has it all but risks everything to beat the shit out of little brunette girls. I have no doubt what would happen to my reputation if the media found out about my sexual tendencies; ruined doesn't even cover it. But I've been under Flynn for a long time now, and I trust his judgment more than my own at times.

"I panicked."

"_Do you want her to get rid of your baby?" _

I notice the purposeful use of the word 'your'. He's trying to give me ownership of the issue. It's probably a bad sign that I recognize the tactics my shrink is using against me.

"It's not my baby."

"_Oh?" _

"She wants to keep it; it's hers," I clarify. I don't want him to think Ana is unfaithful.

"_I see. You had nothing to do with this then?"_

"Of course I did," I snap. Sarcastic bastard. "That's not what I mean."

"_Then what do you mean?" _He's tying me in knots, and I'm struggling to regain control.

"I don't fucking want it! I'm not ready!"

"_Why?" _

"You fucking know why, Flynn."

"_Because you think you will somehow become your mother - Ella?"_ Flynn sighs. "_Christian, how many times have we had this same conversation; you cannot allow your past to cloud your present! Grace and Carrick raised you from a boy; they are your role models. Besides, your life now is worlds apart from the life Ella had. You have money, and the means to take care of a child. Do you plan on abusing your son or daughter or letting others?"_

The questioned takes me by surprise. I'd only been half-listening to the spiel; it was the same one he always gave when I was filled with doubt, but the last part was new.

"Of course I don't. What sort of monster do you think I am?"

I think about the scars littering my body, the scars given to me by my crack-whore mother's pimp, and I know I could never inflict that same pain on a child, nor could I stand by and let another do it to my own.

"_I don't think you are a monster. That's not what I'm implying at all, and that certainly was not what I was asking."_

"I know," I reply, softening my voice, and really I do know, but it's easier to be angry at Flynn than admit to myself that I'm scared of parenthood. "No. I couldn't hurt a child the way my mother hurt me."

"_And you think Carrick and Grace did a good job raising you and your siblings?" _

"The best," I say without missing a beat, because it's the truth. They did, they really did. Considering all the issues I had, they'd worked fucking miracles.

"_Then model your parenting on their example. You are not destined to repeat the mistakes of the past, Christian." _

"I don't know if I can do this."

"_You can, and you will." _

I rub the tips of my fingers over my lips and close my eyes. "I don't want to lose Ana to this baby." I give a disgusted snort. "How much of an asshole does that make me? That I'm worried about competing with a tiny, defenseless baby?"

"_Would you think more of Ana if she chose you over the child?" _

"No, because then she would be just like my bitch of a mother." And that I could never forgive.

"_But in spite of that, by choosing the baby, you still feel she's rejected you?" _

"I don't know. Yes. Perhaps."

"_Why do you think she chose the baby over you?"_

"It's growing inside of her; it's a part of her."

"_It's a part of you, too, Christian." _

I frown. "What if it's all the worst parts?"

Flynn lets out a low breath, his frustration barely veiled. _"I'm coming over to you. Are you at home?" _

"Yes." A wave of relief washes over me. I need to work through this, and I need Flynn here to do that. I can't make sense of anything alone. My brain is too muddled and my emotions too conflicted. I want Ana, but I don't want the baby, but to have Ana I have to accept it. I don't know if I can do that. I'm scared to take that step.

"_I'll be there in forty minutes. Stay off the alcohol. I don't want to talk to you drunk." Too late, _I think, but I keep that fact to myself. Previously, I would have drank myself into oblivion and took my frustration out on one of my submissive's through orgasm denial; the fact I've only achieved the former shows how much I've grown. I've changed a lot since I married Ana.

"I'll be sober enough to talk," I assure him.

I hang up and tap my cell on the desk, my brain whirling at a million miles per hour. I have no idea how I fix this, but I hope Flynn will have the answer. He's normally pretty good at putting me back on track; that's why I pay him so goddamn much.

My thoughts are suddenly broken by a commotion beyond the door of my office. Raised voices ring out, although whose I'm not sure. I get to my feet quickly, wondering what the hell the noise is about, when Taylor pushes inside the room.

"We have to lock you down, Sir. Now."

"Why?" I ask.

"Escala security found Luke in the parking garage. He's been shot." He says it so matter-of-fact, it takes my brain a moment to compute what he said.

"Oh my god." I feel sick. I need to sit down. Sawyer's been shot... Sawyer, who was protecting my wife, who Taylor hasn't mentioned at all. That is enough to concern me; normally he'd reassure me immediately that she is okay. "Where's my wife, Taylor?"

His expression is pained and he looks as sick as I feel. My heart skips over a couple of beats before pounding loudly in my ears because I know what's coming next. I know it, and I can't stop Taylor from saying it.

"Ana's missing."

"Missing?" My first reaction is panic, followed by intense gut-wrenching fear. Missing? How the hell can she be missing? I'm not an idiot; Sawyer's shooting and Ana's disappearance indicate an organized hit. Is it a kidnapping? Who the hell has her? Is she hurt? Is she scared? Is she dead?

_Jesus... _I almost puke there and then. Taylor clutches my shoulder, keeping me on my feet as the room spins around me. I can't allow myself to think that. The thought is enough to almost send me over the edge.

My worst nightmare is coming true. Someone took my wife, my Ana. Taylor and the rest of the security team spent weeks going through scenarios, working out how to react if this situation ever occurred. I increased security considerably following Hyde's arson attack at Taylor's suggestions; I even hired three others to keep an eye on the rest of my family. Yet all the security, all the money in the world didn't make a difference; someone still managed to get passed Sawyer and take Ana.

"We have to get you secured, Sir. You may also be a target."

Taylor tries to guide me toward the door, but my legs don't want to work. It takes me a moment to get moving under my own steam. My thoughts are jumbled and terrified. If it's a kidnapping, they may not hurt her until they get the money, by which time Ana could be located. I cling to that thought like life saving driftwood.

I let Taylor pull me out of the room and steer me into his office – toward the panic room I had installed after I proposed to Ana. Even then I knew that this could be a possibility, that Ana could be in danger just by being Mrs Christian Grey, but I married her anyway. Now she could be hurt, or worse, and that is on me.

As I enter Taylor's office, I take a brief second to glance around the familiar space. It is like a techies dream. Two hi-tech systems run through the entire apartment; one a motion sensor, the other the camera system. Both feed information into this room, and my office; the former into the very expensive computer on Taylor's desk, the latter to the screens lining one wall. It is top of the range and it cost me the goddamn earth. Reynolds sits at the security screens scanning frantically through the footage. He glances up at me as I enter with Taylor, guilt written in every frown line in his expression.

_Bastard._

"Where you fucking sleeping on the job?" I snap at him. "How did you not see this? How the fuck did this happen?"

"Sir, I-" Reynolds starts, his cheeks flaming. "I didn't see it-"

Taylor cuts him off. "We don't have access to the parking garage CCTV footage. We didn't see anything that happened once they got into the elevator."

"Why the hell not?" I demand.

"Because it's a communal space, and it's not Escala's policy to allow individual parties to have access to areas other guests use." His lips twist in disgust. "They pride themselves on the fact their clientele have good privacy."

That policy may have just lost me my wife.

"You're telling me because of some stupid policy, no one apart from fucking building security can see Ana going down to her car?" I ground out the words. I'm angry. More than angry, I'm fucking furious. "So every time she leaves this apartment she's at risk?"

Reynolds looks as if he wants the ground to swallow him whole, but Taylor doesn't flinch; it's not the first time I've reamed him out over something, although those past misdemeanors pale in comparison to this.

"Sir, I highlighted this very point in my security briefing after your wedding. We've been in talks with the in-house security team at Escala to have that changed, but the paperwork... We have to gain permission from every resident in the building. It takes time."

I vaguely remember the briefing and I vaguely remember Taylor harping on about gaps in the security. I also vaguely remember dismissing the conversation and telling him Escala was completely safe. This is on me, not on Taylor, not on Reynolds, not on Prescott and not on Ryan. That thought sends a spike of agony racing through me. I thought Ana needed protecting outside Escala – at work, with Kate or Mia, not at home.

I drag my fingers through my hair and take a painful breath. It was my fault she was even in the garage; I drove her to leave.

"What about Sawyer?" I ask, needing to focus on something other than my guilt, my failings. "Did he see anything?"

"He's en route to Harborview Medical Center with Ryan; he's trying to get as much information out of him before he goes into surgery."

_Oh god,_ surgery? The room is spinning again, and I have to sit down before my legs give out.

"He's badly hurt?" I ask quietly.

Taylor pauses as if weighing up his response.

"Yes, he is." He doesn't elaborate. He doesn't need to; I can read the concern in his expression. _Shit._ If Sawyer dies...

I swallow bile and steel my voice. "You have contact details for his family?"

"In his employee file. I've emailed a copy to Ryan so he can pass it to the hospital staff."

"Good, tell him to wait there until Sawyer's family arrive. Someone should be there to explain." I stand for a moment transfixed by the monitors, my mind racing. _Oh, god, Ana. Please be okay._ "Actually bring Ryan here and send Prescott in his place. We'll need his experience for this." He was former FBI; he'd worked a lot of high-profile cases like this in the past. Prescott's background wasn't as technical. "What about Mrs Jones?"

"Gail's already in the panic room, which is where you need to be, Sir."

"You think I care about my safety when my wife is out there alone?"

"Okay, Sir, but if things start getting hairy-"

I wave a dismissive hand. "You work for me, remember?" I say absently. He means well, but I'm not going to sit on the sidelines here; Ana is my wife and I won't rest until she is back with me. "What about the rest of my family? Are they safe?"

"Milligan was out with your brother and Ms Kavanagh this morning. They're secured. Skinner has gone to pick up your mother from the hospital and your father was already home."

I frown at him. "What about Mia?"

Taylor licks his lips. "We're still trying to locate Miss Grey and Warner."

"You've called Warner?"

"Yes."

"And there's been no response?"

"Not yet, but don't read too much into that, Mr Grey," Taylor says, placing a reassuring hand on my arm.

"Sir, she's probably at the movies or something," Reynolds adds. "Your sister likes films."

I nod, but a sense of unease washes over me. "Let me know as soon as she is safe. In fact, bring my family here." If this was a hit against me, I could protect them better at Escala.

"Of course, Sir." Taylor turns to Reynolds. "Get on the phone, relay Mr Grey's wishes to the others. Keep trying Warner. In fact tell Skinner to stop on the way here at Ethan Kavanagh's apartment. Miss Grey has spent a considerable amount of time over their recently."

Taylor's orders are sharp, but controlled. Within a few minutes everything is in motion.

I numbly watch the commotion, a thousand scenarios racing through my head, and none of them pretty. Ana is pregnant and I pushed her into the arms of a dangerous psychopath with a gun. I am so deep in thought, I don't realize Taylor has left the room until he reenters it with a disc in hand.

"Mr Grey?" I raise my gaze to his and meet his concerned eyes. "You might want to sit out for this." I give him a questioning look. "It's the security video from the garage. Building security gave me a copy."

"No," I say steeling my voice. "I want to see what happened."

Taylor looks as if he wants to argue, but thinks better of it. He hands the DVD to Reynolds, who slides it into the player, beaming it to a large LCD screen on the opposite wall to the security panel.

It shows the parking garage in gray hues, giving it an eerie air that sends chills racing down my spine. It's nowhere near as sophisticated as the system I have in the apartment, and I feel a little annoyed by the fact. Good thing I'm not relying on the in-house security team to keep me and Ana safe.

The camera focuses on the five spaces that belong to Ana and I, and my heart constricts as I look at the back of her car. I remember how happy she was when I gave it her. Those happier times seem like a distant memory in light of our fighting for the last few weeks. I hope we can recapture that euphoria.

Reynolds skips through the footage for a couple of minutes, stopping it as Sawyer suddenly steps into frame, dragging Ana's suitcase behind him. I swallow hard. Watching her leave again in black and white is harder than I imagined it would be.

Sawyer moves over to the car and pops the trunk. He places the case in and as he goes to close the lid, Ana reaches out and stops him. She says something to him, but there is no sound.

"You think this is an organized hit, or an opportunistic individual?" I ask.

On screen, Sawyer staggers back a step and then canters his head to one side. I watch with horror as he lists forward into Ana's arms, dragging them both to the ground.

"The latter. It's all a bit rudimentary."

"Rudimentary or not, it worked," Reynolds counters. "Sawyer didn't see the guy coming."

I study the man lying on the ground, clutching his side in agony. The picture quality is grainy, but I can see the dark patch growing on Luke's light shirt.

"Ana left at least half an hour ago. You're telling me that it took the building's security thirty minutes to see this?" I snarl, my eyes still locked on the screen as a man appears in the frame.

He roughly drags Ana to her feet and starts pulling her away from Sawyer, who is struggling to his knees. The feat looks like it costs him more energy than he has left to give, but he manages to raise his gun. Without warning, he flops back to the ground, clutching his leg.

"Two suspects," Taylor murmurs. "Not one. Maybe a little more organized than first impressions."

"Any idea who the guy in frame is, T?" Reynolds asks as the video continues to roll.

"It's difficult to tell. His face is covered, and the hood of his sweatshirt hides his hair." He sighs. "It could be anyone."

"Barney may be able to clean up the film enough to get a glimpse of the guy's face so we can run it through facial recognition software," I add. I have no idea if he can do that, but Barney's a fucking expert when it comes to crap like this. If there's a way he'll find it.

"I've already called him; he's coming over," Taylor says.

Ana is off-screen now, and Reynolds leans forward to stop the DVD when she suddenly reappears in the frame. She's trying to run, but her movements are weird and disjointed. She's staggering like she's drunk, but at least she's moving. I feel a swell of hope and a whole lot of pride as she almost makes the elevator. Almost.

A dark figure slams into her back so hard, I have no idea how she is still moving after it. I swallow bile as I watch her manhandled back to her feet. Her limbs are limp and her head rolls forward on to her chest. She's barely moving, and that sends a wave of fear through me.

"We have to find her," I murmur, my gaze locked on the only remaining image on the screen: Sawyer bleeding out, alone in the garage. My wife is nowhere to be seen.

"We will find her, Sir," Taylor assures me. "We won't stop until Mrs Grey is home safe; I promise you that."


	7. Chapter 7

**PART SEVEN**

_Tuesday 27 September, 2011_

Seattle PD arrive just as Taylor finishes screening the CCTV footage of Ana's abduction. Officers swarm through the apartment like locusts, asking questions, demanding access to everything on our security system, while CSI head down to the garage to take samples from the crime scene. Within half an hour of their arrival, I'm herded into the living area, steered to the couch and interrogated by an asshole cop in his late thirties with unruly dark hair.

I hate him before he even opens his mouth.

I rove my gaze over his crumpled suit, and curl my lips with disdain. The guy is barely exuding professionalism. He leans back on the couch, his body language overly relaxed, and I have to fight the urge to get up and smack him in the face. Ana's missing, and _this_ smug bastard is going to find her? We're screwed.

"I'm Detective John Turner. Anastasia is your wife?" he asks, pulling out a pad and pen from the inside pocket of his jacket before glancing up expectantly.

"Yes," I murmur, and resist the urge to roll my eyes; everyone who can read in Seattle knows who my wife is. We've hit the front pages of most of the glossy magazines as well as most of the papers over the last few months. The media are obsessed with the 'rich guy falls for humble girl' angle.

"What time did Mrs Grey arrive home tonight?"

"Around 6."

"And she left again around six-thirty?"

I rack my brain, trying to recall what time she had left with Sawyer, but my memory feels foggy. I try to push through the haze and remember what time Ros called me, but I can't. I hazard a guess; no doubt the garage footage is time stamped anyway.

"I think it was about that time, maybe a little earlier."

"Where was she going?" Turner asks as he jots down something. What the hell is he writing? I've barely said anything.

"I don't know," I admit reluctantly.

Turner tears his gaze from his pocket-book and quirks his brow at me. "Your wife didn't mention to you where she was going when she left?"

There is something in his tone that puts me on edge, like he's waiting for me to slip up, and I get the feeling I've just given him the perfect opening. I take solace in silence and don't answer.

"Mr Grey?" he presses. "Please, answer the question."

I let out a long breath. "She didn't say; I didn't ask."

Turner canters his head, considering me. "What is your relationship with Anastasia like?"

"None of your goddamn business," I snap, unable to keep the irritation out of my voice. I don't like having my private life invaded like this, and I don't want to admit to this asshole that my wife and I are currently having the worst argument we've ever experienced.

"I don't mean to intrude, Mr Grey, but any information will help with our investigation."

"Our relationship is fine."

"So you've never been violent toward Anastasia?"

And there it is. There is the point of this little interrogation. I almost reach across the gap between the couches and knock his teeth out.

"What the hell are you suggesting, Detective?"

"Please, just answer the question."

"Have I ever hit my wife?" I growl at him, dragging my fingers through my hair. "No, I fucking haven't." _Not unless you count spanking, _but I keep that thought to myself.

Turner's lips quirk into a smirk that sets my teeth on edge. "But you did throw a wine bottle across the room at her earlier tonight, right?"

I'm sure the blood drains from my head for a second. He must have watched the CCTV footage from inside the apartment.

"I didn't throw it at her." I feel shame crawl through me. I should never have lost my temper like that, but I would never hurt Ana... except, that is exactly what I have done. I pushed her to breaking point, I hurt her with words, and I may never have the chance to apologize, to make it up to her.

"No, of course not," Turner says, his lips curling with disdain. "What was the argument about?"

"What do most couples argue about? Stupid, meaningless shit," I hedge. I don't want to admit why we're fighting. This guy already thinks I'm a jerk. I dread to think what he would make of my masochistic sexual tendencies. He's already painting Ana as a victim of my rage; paddles, whips and handcuffs probably won't help that image.

Turner lets out a long, suffering breath.

"You have to see this from my point of view. A man's been shot and is in a critical condition, fighting for his life, and your wife is missing after you have a heated argument with her. A little digging around and I found out somethings that don't exactly point to you as the loving husband, Mr Grey."

"Yeah?" I murmur, unable to keep the derision out of my voice. Where the fuck is this going? "Well, you shouldn't believe everything you hear."

"Your relationship has been on the rocks for a while now, hasn't it?"

"We're having problems, sure, but what couple doesn't."

"She moved out; I'd call that a pretty damn big problem." Turner leans forward, fire in his eyes. "Did the violence finally get too much for her?"

I blink. "What?" My brain can't quite comprehend what he is implying.

"Was the wine bottle the final straw?"

"I don't-"

"Did she try to leave you so you had her abducted to stop her? Was Mr Sawyer just in the wrong place at the wrong time or was there a motive behind that too? Did you hire the men who took Ana?"

_Holy fucking shit... _

The realization of what this guy is trying to do hits me like a wrecking ball. Shock is my first line of defense, but it's followed quickly by a new emotion: fury. Who the hell does this asshole think he is? Does he honestly think I would fabricate a story like this just to teach Ana a lesson? Does he honestly think I would hire men to drag my pregnant wife off? The fact he doesn't yet know she's pregnant is irrelevant, and I don't plan on mentioning it either. This guy has enough ammunition as it is.

"You fucking bastard," I murmur. "You goddamn son of a bitch! This conversation is fucking over. My wife is missing, Detective. Rather than trying to pin this on me, I'd suggest you pull your finger out of your ass and try to find the guys who actually fucking took her!"

I turn to storm from the room, but Turner gets to his feet and clears his throat. "There's a room, down the hallway. It's locked; I'm going to need access."

The playroom... shit. One look in that room and I'll be in handcuffs in seconds, and not the kinky kind.

I glance at him over my shoulder. "Speak to my fucking lawyer, Turner."

I'm hiding on the balcony off the living area, trying to ignore the commotion when Flynn finds me ten minutes later. My brain has completely shut down and panic, mixed with intense fear for Ana's safety, are the only emotions I seem capable of.

His expression is unreadable as he studies the police officers grouped around computers in the living area and his eyes widen as he shuts the glass door behind him. With everything that has happened in the last hour, I'd forgotten he was coming over.

"What the hell is going on, Christian?" he asks, alarm in his voice. "There's law enforcement everywhere. I had to get Taylor to vouch for me so I could even get into the building!"

I shift my shoulders, my gaze locked on the Seattle skyline. It's almost eight and the daytime crowd is giving way to the night. Socialites are readying to hit Seattle's restaurants and bars, and I envy them. What I'd give to be out with Ana right now, drinking champagne and eating a good steak. Instead I'm playing host to most of Seattle's law enforcement, and I have no idea if I'll ever see my wife again. On top of that, I'm fairly certain Detective Turner is building a case against me.

"Have the media turned up yet?" I have no doubt a considerable amount of journalists are staking out the entrance of Escala, and that thought makes my blood run cold. I don't want them poking around this as well. The cops are bad enough.

"There were a handful waiting outside, but they looked like local news. What is going on?" Flynn presses.

Finally, I meet his eyes and see the panic reflected in them, and who can blame him. I call him in a mess about Ana and now the police are everywhere. I wonder what is going through his head, what he thinks has happened.

"Christian?"

I exhale deeply and rake my fingers through my hair. "Ana's been abducted."

Saying it is physically painful, and my voice cracks despite my attempts to steel it. I'm still not sure I believe it, even though I've seen the video footage of the kidnapping. How can she be gone?

"Oh my god." Flynn scrubs a hand down his face, his gaze unseeing as he processes what I've told him. "When did this happen?"

"Over an hour ago." I lean against the railings and let my head drop toward my chest, my shoulders sagging. "The police are going through Ana's things, trying to work out who could have taken her, but I'm currently chief suspect." I give him a mirthless smile. Flynn's expression is serious.

"They think you are complicit in this?"

"They think I orchestrated the whole thing to get Ana out of the picture or teach her a lesson or something."

"Why?"

"Because 'multimillionaire arranges for wife's abduction' has more of a ring to it than 'multimillionaire's wife abducted by mysterious man'." I turn to Flynn and shake my head. "What possible benefit would there be for me to arrange this?"

Flynn leans on the barrier next to me. "None; it doesn't make sense." I won't admit it, but the fact the police even suspect I could have done this to my wife cuts deeply. In spite of everything we're going through, I love Ana more than any words can express.

For a moment we both stand in silence, watching the horizon, deep in our own thoughts. Flynn breaks the stalemate first.

"Do you need to talk?" he asks carefully.

I snort. "I'm not sure talking will fix any of this."

"Do you want me to contact your lawyer at least? You should have legal representation."

I shake my head. I'd already called Richard Sullivan, my attorney, after Turner's grilling.

"It's all in hand, thank you."

"Well, I can stay, in case you need me."

I give him a wry smile. "Someone's taken my pregnant wife, shot one of my employees, and now half of Seattle's law enforcement is in my apartment, building a case against me; I think it's a given that I'm going to need you."

In spite of the gravity of the situation, Flynn laughs and I follow suit. The whole thing is bizarre and completely insane.

"Do you need to talk about what we discussed on the phone earlier?"

I snort and duck my head, my hair falling forward into my eyes. It needs trimming. A memory stirs in the back of my mind of Ana running her fingers through my copper locks, scissors moving carefully, and it takes all my will not to break down.

"Ana's pregnancy suddenly doesn't seem that big an issue," I finally murmur. I'd give anything to hold her again, even just for a moment.

There's a knock on the window, and the balcony door opens, cutting off Flynn's response. I half twist as Reynolds hovers in the doorway. Since I reamed him out about falling asleep on the job he's avoided me. He still seems on edge around me – despite the fact I apologized to him.

"Your parents are on their way up, Sir," he says.

Parents... no mention of my sister. My stomach clenches fiercely, but I manage to keep my emotions in check. "Skinner didn't find Mia?"

"Matt will be able to brief you when he comes up."

I frown at him. "Reynolds, has he found her or not?" Good or bad, I need to know.

Reynolds licks his lips. "I'm sorry, Sir. No one has been able to locate Miss Grey yet."

Where the fuck is my sister, and why the hell can no one find her? Fear stirs within me and my heart refuses to believe what my head already suspects: whoever has Ana obviously has Mia too. Numbness spreads through every cell in my body. In the last hour my life has been completely turned on its axis and I don't know how to stop it spinning. My wife is missing, my sister is fuck knows where, and Sawyer is in the hospital with a couple of bullets in him. The nightmare keeps going, and with every development keeps getting worse.

"Mia's been taken too?" Flynn queries once Reynolds has retreated back inside.

"Told you it's been a hell of a day."

"Maybe we should go inside and wait for your family," Flynn suggests, but I don't move; I'm not sure I want to face them yet. How can I tell them I've lost the best thing that ever happened to me? How can I tell them why Ana was leaving me? How can I tell them I threw my pregnant wife into the arms of her abductors? And how can I tell them that their daughter is probably missing because of me? I can't prove it yet, but I'm certain these events link in someway to me: my wife, my sister – it's all a little too close to home for coincidence.

I close my eyes and try to focus on something positive, like Flynn taught me, but all I can think of is Ana, being tortured or worse. And what if Mia has been same people too?

I force my lids apart and clench my jaw in a bid to control my emotions, but nothing is in my control anymore. If Mia and Ana are both in the hands of these people, I fear for them both. Sawyer's shooting had been brutal and without hesitation; god knows what these animals would do to the girls.

My BlackBerry vibrates in my sweatpants pocket suddenly, pulling me from my morose thoughts, and I'm grateful for the distraction. I glance at the caller display. Ros. _Shit._ I'd forgotten about Taiwan...

"I have to take this," I say apologetically to Flynn.

"Business?" he queries, and there is a vague look of disapproval in his expression. I'm not sure whether it is due to what he sees as a lack of focus or the fact I'm letting other stresses impinge on what is already an incredibly mentally draining situation.

"I'm supposed to be flying to Taiwan tomorrow," I explain. "We're brokering one of the biggest requisitions of the year."

I'm trying to defend the fact I have responsibilities I can't just walk away from, and that pisses me off. I'm not looking for Flynn's approval and I certainly don't need it. Ana is the most important thing in my life, but I can't just leave Ros hanging either. She's worked relentlessly on this deal for over a year; I owe her a damn good explanation about why I haven't called her back.

"I'll just be a second."

"I'll be inside if you need me. I'll wait for your parents; no doubt they will need someone to talk to."

Absently, I wonder how much his 'being here for me and my family' is going to cost; I like Flynn, but I have no doubt all he's seeing is the $250 an hour fee. Still, it might be useful to have him here. I'm not very good at being sympathetic, and my mom and dad are going to need support. Flynn might be able to provide that.

Once the doctor is inside, I pick up the call. Ros sounds frazzled and more than a little irritated – not that I blame her. She's worked hard for this deal, and I've ignored her for over an hour.

"I'm sorry I didn't call you back."

"_This deal is going completely south, Christian. I've set up a meeting with Travis before we fly out in the morning to see if we can smooth things over, but he's really digging his heels in over Sutton." _Her voice is like a calm wave in a tremulous ocean. An hour ago this had been my biggest problem. A lot is relying on this deal – around $1.5 million, in fact – but right now I can't bring myself to care if I lose the money or not.

"Ros, you're going to have to handle this alone." She's the only person I trust with my businesses aside from Ana, and I know she can do this alone – even if she doesn't believe she can.

"_You want me to go to meet with Travis without you? Christian, you know the only person he's going to listen to is you, and we need Sutton gone before we can sell to the Taiwanese." _

"Just fucking sort it!" I snap, and then instantly regret it. Ros is a good girl, and she's good at her job, but Travis is a misogynistic asshole who will only deal with men. Ros will have her work cut out for her, but I have no doubt she can chew him up and spit him back out. "I've got a family emergency going on here; I can't deal with Travis and his bullshit right now." I skirt over the fact my wife and sister are missing, and that I'm probably facing arrest for abducting them. "I know it's a lot to dump on you, but I just... I need you to handle this."

She doesn't push me for answers about what that emergency is, but she agrees to oversee the business until I return. She tells me to call if I need anything, not that I will, but I appreciate the sentiment all the same.

As I hang up, I feel relief. Travis may be an asshole who will only listen to me, but Ros is hardly a pushover. Some of the biggest requisitions at Grey Enterprises Holding Inc have been brokered by Ros and Ros alone. There is a reason she is my number two. Knowing the business is safe in her hands is reassuring. It means all I have to focus on is Ana and Mia.

My phone vibrates again, and I almost sling it over the balcony ledge until I realize it's just an email. I almost don't open it, but if it's work related, I'll need to forward it over to Ros.

* * *

**From:** unknown

**Subject**: A little present for you

**Date:** September 27, 2011 19.34

**To**: Christian Grey

**Attachments**:

Your wife really is very beautiful, Grey. Hope you enjoy the photograph.

Speak soon

* * *

My heart literally stops in my chest. I feel like I'm suffocating. I force my lungs to drag in air as I stare at the words. A thousand scenarios race through my head, none of them particularly pleasant.I don't want to open it; I don't want to see what horrors lie within that photograph, but I have to. I have to know she's alive, I have to see the damage they have inflicted upon her, and I have to find the strength to hunt those bastards down and make them pay for every cut, every bruise. I take a deep breath, solidify my walls and open it.

The scene that greets me is worse than anything I'd imagined. Ana's lying on a filthy mattress in the back of what looks like a van. Her face is turned to one side, and there is blood trailing down her swelling cheek from a cut above her brow. Her hands are pulled tightly behind her back and cuffed in a way that looks agonizing for her shoulders, and there is already bruising on her pale wrists. For a moment, I think she's dead; she's far too pale, but then I notice her eyes are open a slither, and her glassy gaze is directed at the camera.

A wave of dizziness so powerful it nearly floors me rolls over me as I stare at the image, my heart spluttering in my chest. My head spins, and my chest feels tight. I can't breathe. I'm going to pass out. Holy fuck, I'm going to... what?

Vomit...

_Shit_, I'm going to puke.

I drop to my knees in front of a small planter filled with pale pink carnations, Ana's favorite flower, and throw my guts up. My stomach aches fiercely as I retch and bring up every morsel I've eaten in the last twenty-four hours. The pain is horrendous and the strain on my body reduces me to a trembling wreck. _What the hell are they doing to her? _

"Christian, honey?" My mom's voice sounds behind me. Oh, Jesus, I don't want her to see me like this, but my body isn't finished; I still have things to bring up. Her hand comes to rest on my lower back as I continue to throw up. It's a testament to how much Ana has changed me that I don't pull away.

When I'm finished, I sag back against the glass window, and drag the back of my hand over my mouth. I ignore the fact I'm shaking as my mom hands me a tissue, her gaze roving over me. She's still wearing pale blue scrubs underneath her white lab coat, and I feel suddenly guilty that I might have pulled her from a patient that needed her. I want to apologize, to say something, but I can't because I'm glad she's here.

"Are you finished?" she asks.

"Think so," I say quietly. Burning humiliation rages through me. Grace has seen me sick before, but I'm 28, not 10. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"Don't be silly," she chastises me softly. "You don't have to apologize, Christian." She looks as if she wants to reach out and touch me, to offer me reassurance, but she's unsure if I'll let her again. Hesitantly, she places her hand on my arm and looks relieved when I don't shrug her off. "Are you all right now?"

I drop my head back against the glass and bring my knees up to my chest, breathing hard. I'm exhausted and my energy is spent.

"I think so." I close my eyes, trying to remove the image seared into my memory. "I received a photograph... of Ana. I think it's from the kidnappers."

Grace pales. "Have the police seen it yet?"

"I've only just received it." I bury my head in my hands and grip my hair, resisting the urge to pull it out in chunks. "God, mom, what the fuck are they doing to her?"

Her touch on my arm tightens. "She'll be okay, Christian. She's such a strong girl."

Strong, yes, but she's also fucking reckless. Ana has a tendency to throw herself directly into the line of fire when there really is no need, and that concerns me. She's also pregnant, and I have no idea what effect that is having on her physically or emotionally. I shake myself, refusing to think about the baby and my behavior. For now, all that matters is getting Ana home safe. Everything else we'll deal with afterward.

"Dad's here?" I ask, releasing my hair as I change the subject. I don't want to think about what Ana's going through. I can't think about that and stay focused.

"He's inside talking to the lead investigator; he's trying to make sure you're protected legally," she says with a wry smile.

"I already called my attorney." But I'm grateful my dad is also on the case. My conversation with Turner has me on edge, and I'm not sure if I've given him the fire to light the pyre underneath me. Normally, I would be more savvy, more in tune to what people like Turner were doing, but my emotions had been all over the place; I'd let Turner lead me up the garden path, and that is worrying.

"What about Elliot?" I ask.

"I spoke to your brother ten minutes ago; him and Kate are safe. They're heading to the airport to try to get a flight back from Paris tonight."

I feel another wave of guilt wash over me that I've ruined their holiday. "They don't have to come back to the States."

"Don't be silly, honey. Your brother loves you and wants to be here for you, and for Mia." Grace's expression morphs into fear. It's a look I've never seen on my mom's face, and it's a look I never want to see again.

"She'll turn up, mom," I try to reassure her, but there is skepticism in my voice.

"She wasn't at Ethan's, she's not with any of her friends. I just don't know where on earth she is, Christian. I've called her cell a hundred times, and Kate's been calling her brother non-stop for the last half an hour, but he's not picking up either."

My stomach clenches and flips. I shake myself. No, Mia's fine. She's probably lost her cell or forgot to charge it. She'll come skulking back in an hour, her tail between her legs.

But something niggles in the back of my mind. Her security. Why isn't Warner picking up? In fact, where the fuck is Warner? Something is not right and as much as I don't want to admit it, I can't deny it any longer. Wherever Ana is, I suspect my sister is, too. I keep my thoughts to myself, however, and hope to hell Mia turns up.

"Come on, honey, let's go find your dad – before he gets himself into trouble with the police."

I hold the door open for my mom to step through before following her into the lounge. There are people everywhere, on laptops, on cell phones, talking heatedly over case notes. Mrs Jones is bustling about the kitchen, clambering over wires and equipment, attempting to make coffee and what looks like a platter of sandwiches. I consider telling her to take the night off, and checking her into a hotel, but I know she'll never leave. She cares a great deal for Ana, and she'll want to stay close to Taylor.

I spot my dad across the room talking to Detective Turner.

"I was just asking the Detective if there is any update on Mia or Ana," my dad explains as we approach. He looks tired. His usually jovial expression is dark, more strained. He gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze as I slide in next to him, but my gaze doesn't leave Turner's smug face. Bastard.

"Mr Grey we're still not sure if Miss Grey's disappearance is linked to your daughter-in-law's," Turner says, and he almost puts enough authority into his voice that he sounds believable. Almost.

Carrick gives him an incredulous look. "You think it's a _coincidence_ that both girls are missing at the same time?"

And there it is – the elephant in the room. The truth that none of us wants to face. My mom pales, her hand flying to her mouth as she tries to control her emotions, and a tingle of panic races through me.

"Until I have evidence to prove otherwise, yes."

My dad shakes his head at Turner, but before they can get into another round, I cut through the argument.

"I've had an email through – it's a picture of Ana." I hand my cell to Turner. The detective takes the handset and lowers his eyes to the image. His brow cocks slightly, but he doesn't let any other emotion slide across his face.

"I'll have my tech guys have a look at this – see if we can get any information from it."

"Maybe now you'll believe that I had nothing to do with Ana's disappearance," I snap irritably. I'm still smarting over the fact the police think I'm somehow involved.

"They think you took Ana?" my mom demands incredulously, her gaze split between me and Turner. I merely shift my shoulders. What else can I say? Turner accused me of arranging everything.

"Detective Turner thinks I hired the men who shot Sawyer and took Ana - possibly Mia, too." I keep my eyes locked on Turner and feel a hint of satisfaction as he cringes.

"Mr Grey, we're just following all lines of inquiry," the detective answers.

"What happened to waiting for the evidence?" I throw his earlier line back at him. He sighs, looking a little ruffled for the first time.

"I am following the evidence. Bringing Ana home in my only priority."

"And you don't think that is my number one priority too?"

"Hold on," my dad jumps in. "You questioned my son without legal representation present when you consider him a suspect?" I recognize the tight set of his shoulder's; he's pissed.

"Mr Grey, I asked your son some questions about his wife's disappearance and where he was at the time; it was hardy the inquisition." Turner is trying to placate, but my dad is not having it.

My father rolls his eyes at Turner. "You broke the damn rules! Anything you want to say to my son from now on you speak to me first. And if you ever question him again without ensuring he has adequate representation I'll have you in front of a judge so quickly you won't know what hit you, you got that?"

"Cary," my mom places a restraining hand on his arm, in a bid to calm his raging emotions.

"I'm sorry, Grace, but if they want to treat Christian as a suspect – which is completely ludicrous by the way – then they have to play by the rules."

"I assure you, I'm very mindful of the rules, Mr Grey," Turner says carefully, but there is a hint of irritation in his voice at the accusation. "If you'll excuse me. I need to get this image over to the tech team."

Once Turner has left, I turn to my father.

"I don't need you to fight my battles, dad," I tell him wearily.

Carrick pushes his fingers through his hair and scowls. "I know you don't." He rakes his gaze over me critically. "You look exhausted. Come, sit down."

He leads my mom and I into the only quiet room in the apartment; the TV room. Flynn is sitting on the couch waiting as we enter, and stands to greet my parents. My mom gives me a quizzical look to which I merely shrug. I don't want to get into the reasons why Flynn is here – not yet.

"So what do we know about Mia?" I ask as I'm steered into a chair. My parents sit opposite me, but it is my father who answers; my mom is struggling to keep it together.

"She left the house this morning at around ten, but she never showed up to any of the appointments she had booked." Carrick frowns. "You vetted Warner, right? Before you hired her?"

"Taylor did extensive background checks on her," I say.

My mom's expression drops. "I don't understand why your sister hasn't called to let us know where she is."

_Because she can't... _

The longer she is missing, the more I'm starting to believe she is with my wife. People don't just disappear for ten hours without good reason. If they have her she's been with them nearly the entire day. If Ana looked that horrific after an hour, I dread to think what state Mia is in by now.


	8. Chapter 8

**PART EIGHT**

_Tuesday 27 September, 2011_

Patience is definitely not a virtue I possess. I jiggle my leg, and lean forward on the couch, unable to stop the irritation from rolling through me. My father is stood just outside the room, talking to a small blonde woman wearing a tailored pant suit and low heels. She's a Federal Agent, and that worries me. Detective Turner's attitude had been bad enough – I dread to think what hers will be like. She hasn't, however, asked to talk to me – and I think that has a lot to do with my dad.

"Honey, calm down." I slide my gaze toward my mom and frown. She looks exhausted. Her eyes are circled with black smudges and her face is drawn. Yet, she has been a rock for me to cling to. For the last hour since she arrived, she has reassured me and supported me.

"I hate just sitting here, doing nothing," I mutter.

"I know it's frustrating, Christian, but you have to let the police and FBI do their job."

I snort. "If they were doing their job, Ana and Mia would be home by now; I don't trust them to find her." I drag my fingers through my hair and close my eyes, wanting nothing more than to shut out the world. But this day just keeps going, and keeps giving me new crap to deal with.

"Taylor and your team are helping with the search; they'll find them both." I'm not sure if she's trying to reassure me or herself. Either way, it doesn't help.

My train of thought is broken as my father walks back over to us. His expression is troubled and a spike of fear races through me.

"What's wrong?" I demand.

"Special Agent Monroe is asking for the key to the locked room down the hallway."

I wince. That room... The playroom... The room full of paddles and sex toys. Turner already thinks I beat the shit out of my wife; all this will do is give him more proof.

"No," I say immediately.

My father raises his brow. "Christian, you have to open it. The FBI and police already think you're a suspect; don't give them anymore ammunition."

"Sweetheart, please, just do as your father says," Grace adds.

I scowl and pinch the bridge of my nose between my finger and thumb. "I can't open that door."

"Why not?" my dad snaps, finally losing his cool. It normally would take a lot to drive him to that point; I guess the evening's events are finally taking its toll on him.

"Because!" I snap back, then soften my voice when my mom recoils. She's got enough to deal with. "I just can't, okay. Trust me on this one."

I don't want to explain the reasons, but my dad is giving me _that_ look – the one he used to give me when I was fifteen and refusing to tell him why I'd been arrested or dragged in front of the principal. It's only a matter of time before I start spilling my guts to him.

"I do trust you, but the police are already suspicious, son. If you don't open that room, they're going to start wondering what you're hiding."

I scrub a hand down my face and scowl. And this is exactly why I didn't want the law involved in this.

"Dad, please," I say pained. "I can't."

"What on earth is in there?" Grace demands.

I'm sure I'm blushing from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes. This is horrific. I'm going to have to come clean about my sexual tendencies, and I don't know if I can do that – not to my parents.

_Jesus._

There are some things that should stay private - the fact I like to spank the hell out of my wife definitely being one of those things. But my parents are still staring at me.

"Can I talk to you for a moment – in private?" I ask my dad, but I don't give him a chance to respond. I'm up and out of my chair before he can open his mouth and into the hallway, away from my mom. Admitting this to him will be hard enough – admitting it to my mom is unthinkable. I just can't.

My father raises a brow at me as he follows me, bemused by my actions. I glance up the corridor at the guys in navy blue jackets with FBI stamped on the back, ensuring they're out of ear shot before I turn back to Carrick, but facing him now I can't bring myself to admit my secret – my dirty, sordid secret. I can't stand the way he's going to look at me when he finds out that for years I've dominated women and inflicted pain on them to increase my pleasure – and theirs.

"Christian, you're worrying me. What is it?"

_Holy fucking mother of..._ I take a breath.

"The room... Ana and I, we have..." I break off; I have no idea what to say next. There is nothing I can say that isn't going to make me sound like a pervert.

At my hesitation, my father squeezes my shoulder. "Son, you can tell me anything."

I cringe. I know he's trying to be supportive, but his words fill me with guilt and shame. I go for the band-aid method – rip it off quick and fast.

"It's a playroom."

My dad's expression is laced with confusion. "Like a kids playroom?"

"Not exactly. We..." I pinch the bridge of my nose. This shouldn't be so difficult. I'm an adult; Ana is an adult. So what if we enjoy kinky sex? Except, it's my dad stood in front of me, and I'm about to admit something I've kept a secret since I was 15. "It's a _sex_ playroom," I say quietly. "Ana and I like to... _play_ during sex." My cheeks flame and I want the ground to swallow me up. This is beyond embarrassing.

Carrick blushes as deeply, his lips parting. "Oh," is all he manages.

"There's stuff in there that might help the cops build a case against me." Oh god.

My dad shifts, and I can tell he's as uncomfortable with this conversation as I am. "Well, it's not a crime to play...um, sex games with your wife," he says, clearing his throat.

"Turner is already painting this picture of me as a violent asshole, dad. If he sees the paddles and cuffs in there-"

Carrick raises his hands, his expression pained. "Enough, please. I really don't need to have that image in my head." He lets out a low breath. "Regardless of what is in that room, son, you're going to have to open the door; all you're doing by denying the police access is raising suspicions further. It's not against the law to be adventurous in the bedroom."

"If this gets out, my reputation-"

"Let's just concentrate on getting Ana back safely first. After that we'll worry about the fall out."

I nod, and consider telling him about the fact Ana's pregnant, but I'm not sure I can deal with anymore confessions right now. This conversation is already awkward enough without having to explain why I drove my wife and unborn child into this situation. I have no doubt the truth will come out eventually with the Feds poking around, but I'm not ready to tell my dad what a jerk I've been.

"The keys are in my desk; I'll get them." I start to move, but then stop, turning back to my father. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention this to mom."

He gives me a wry smile. "Of course."

I turn on my heel and wander down the hallway toward my office. There are law enforcement scattered everywhere throughout the apartment. I ignore them, my head down and push into the room.

Surprisingly, it's empty, although there are signs that the Feds have been in here. The papers on my desk are messed up, finger print dust coats most surfaces, and my things have been moved around. I frown and feel sullied by the fact people have been rummaging through my private papers. Then I think of Ana, tied up, alone, possibly hurt and I realize I don't care if they want to tip my life upside down, I don't care if they want to wade through my dirty secrets as long as they find her. All I want is my wife home, safe.

I grab the key from my drawer and walk into the living room, my mind focused on Ana. Taylor is stood talking with Special Agent Monroe, his attention focused on a laptop on the kitchen counter. I haven't seen my security team for a while, but I know Taylor is doing everything in his power to find my wife, and I feel better knowing he is helping the Feds.

"Mr Grey," the agent says, halting her conversation with Taylor.

"Miss Monroe," I acknowledge her politely, although I keep my guard up; I don't trust law enforcement after Turner's interrogation. I'm grateful he's been relegated to door-to-door inquiries since the Feds arrived. "Is there any news?"

"Luke got out of surgery ten minutes ago," Taylor tells me. I feel relief for a moment, but the grim set of his lips quickly douses that.

"Will he make it?" I ask carefully, not sure if I want to know the answer.

"Prescott said the doctors are hopeful."

Hopeful doesn't exactly sound positive. I take a deep breath and try to control my raging emotions. Sawyer can't die. I refuse to believe it is a possibility. I refuse to even consider it. But doubt is a difficult thing and it is creeping through my consciousness, planting seeds as it goes.

"I'm going to check in with Ryan and Reynolds, and then I'll come and update you, Sir," Taylor says. I nod and watch him leave before pulling my gaze back to Monroe.

"Your team is certainly dedicated," she notes.

"They're the best in their fields," I reply stiffly. "I'd advise you to use their expertise."

She gives me a mirthless smile, and I wonder how much she actually hates me. For all her talk, I suspect she thinks I'm just as guilty as Turner does. "Of course."

I let out a long suffering breath. "What about Mia? Any word?"

"Nothing yet," Monroe answers. "I've got a BOLO out on your sister and her security detail. We're scanning traffic cams across Seattle to find her car. If she's out there, Mr Grey, we'll find her."

_In time?_ I want to ask, but I hold my tongue. My relationship with Monroe and her team hasn't exactly been cordial, and I need her to trust me. I'm no good to my wife or my sister if I'm in a jail cell for the next twenty four hours.

"Did you get anything from the email from the kidnappers?" I ask.

"Nothing yet."

"So basically you know nothing more than you did an hour ago." I close my eyes and start counting backwards from ten. My head is close to exploding. How can my wife have been missing for almost three and a half hours and there be no news.

"I assure you we're doing everything we can to find your family."

My eyes fly open and I can't stop the derision in my tone. "If you were doing everything they would be home now."

Monroe pulls her lips into a tight line, but doesn't give any other reaction. I guess she's dealt with thousands of kidnapping cases and thousands of pissed families.

"I know you're frustrated and concerned; I'd feel the same if it was my family, but you have to trust me, Mr Grey. We're doing everything we can."

I snort, but don't bite – as tempting as it is. Instead, I slide the playroom key onto the counter. Monroe raises her gaze to me.

"For the locked room down the hallway."

She stares at it for a moment, before curling her fingers around it and pocketing it. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

Monroe pushes her fingers through her blonde hair and lets out a long breath. "I know you didn't get off to a great start with Turner, but I judge on the facts and the evidence, Mr Grey."

I know I should appreciate the olive branch she is holding out, but I don't care about repairing bridges. I just want her to do her fucking job and find my family. I don't want to be her friend. I flash a small smile, but that's all.

"Do you think your father would be okay with you looking at some photographs?" She gives me a wry smile. "I don't want to get on the wrong side of him again."

I scowl. I'm not a child; I can make my own decisions, but Carrick is a formidable force when he's wielding his lawyer powers; I understand her hesitation. "Sure."

She pushes a stack of photographs across the counter at me. They are stills from the garage showing the people who took Ana. Each picture is like a stop-motion flip book of the abduction, each showing a little snippet of what happened.

"We're certain there were two men who took your wife. One grabbed her, the other hung back a little and shot your wife's security detail."

I flick through the images and frown.

"Are their faces covered in all the images?"

"Unfortunately."

I study the two pictures intently, focusing on the only part I can see – the eyes. There is something familiar about them both, but I can't put my finger on why... I tilt my head to the side and try to scratch at the niggling feeling in the depths of my mind.

"You see something?" Monroe asks after a moment.

"I'm not sure," I murmur. What the hell is it about those eyes...?

My concentration is broken as a Federal Agent rushes over to Monroe. He's young – maybe the same age as me – with slightly longer dark hair and a strong jaw. His good looks are marred by a scar running from below his left eye. "Maggie, we found the car!"

I blink. "Mia's car?" I ask, but his attention is locked on Monroe.

"Where?" she demands, moving with him as he leads her over to the group of agents gathered around a load of laptops. To my surprise, Barney is sat smack-bang in the middle of them all. I let myself smile a little.

Barney raises his eyes and meets my gaze with a grin of his own. I give him a small nod. _Good work. _

"They head across town, nothing unusual, but then the driver moves through the back roads, avoiding traffic cams. It took us a while-" Barney coughs. "It took Barney a while to track the vehicle down, but eventually we found it driving into the port."

"Forensics?"

"En route. I told them we'd meet them down there. PD are currently at the scene maintaining the chain of evidence so nothing is compromised."

Monroe is slipping her FBI windbreaker on, talking with her colleague as she heads toward to front door.

"Miss Grey?" she asks.

"No sign of her or her driver. A man was in the car; he's been taken to Harborview."

"Can he talk?"

"I'm not sure. They beat the hell out of him."

"Who is he?"

"PD on scene identified him as an Ethan Kavanagh – the vic's boyfriend."

"Why didn't they take him – or kill him?" Monroe questions. "It doesn't make sense."

"Unless this was a message."

I finally lose my temper. I don't like being ignored.

"What the hell is going on?" I snap. "Where the hell is my sister!" Both federal agents stop. They exchange a glance before turning back to me.

"Mr Grey, I'm sorry. We have to move quickly here. The crime scene could give us some indication of where your wife and sister are."

"You think she was definitely taken by the same people then?" My heart is pounding fiercely in my eyes and I feel light headed. This can not be happening.

Her colleague winces. "We know there were three people in that car for sure: your sister, Miss Warner and Ethan Kavanagh. He was the only one left behind."

Monroe scowls at him. "We can't assume anything at this stage."

"Agent Monroe just be straight with me, please. Do you think the two cases are linked?"

She pulls her lip between her teeth, her hands sliding onto her hips. For a moment she looks anywhere but my face. Then she turns and meets my eyes.

"Yes. I think this whole thing is a personal attack against you, Mr Grey. If this was a routine car jacking they wouldn't have left Ethan alive. Whoever took your sister wanted him to tell you what happened."

Nausea rolls through me. "You think Mia's okay?" She can't be dead, she just can't. I think about my sweet, playful sister and feel my emotions building.

"I don't know. But I think whoever orchestrated this planned on taking your wife, sister and your parents."

That shocks me to my core. "What?"

Monroe licks her lips. "The van used to take Ana has been tailing your entire family for the last week."

Bile pools in my mouth, and I feel sick to my stomach. Monroe places a reassuring hand on my arm and it takes all my will power not to tear out of her grip.

"Mr Grey, you need to start thinking about any enemies you have who would want to hurt you and your family."

I laugh bitterly. "Considering my line of work? Most of my clients."

I rake my fingers through my hair and try to concentrate on breathing. How can this be because of me? But when I think about the photograph sent to my phone, I realize this _is_ personal. These assholes are taking the things that are closest to me – my wife, my sister, my parents. Thankfully the latter are safe in my apartment, but my brother is still out there. I make a mental note to have Taylor meet him and Kate at the airport when they manage to get a flight in. Maybe they'd be better staying in Europe until this is finished...

"Have a think; we'll discuss this when we get back." Monroe gives me a reassuring smile that does nothing to assuage my fear. "I'm going to do everything in my power to get your sister and your wife home safely, Mr Grey. I promise."

She turns on her heel and leaves the apartment. I watch her go, my stomach churning. I'm sick of waiting for them to find my family when I have the best team money can buy, and Barney, Taylor, Ryan, Reynolds, Prescott and Skinner are just that: the best. I set my jaw tightly. If anyone is going to save my family, it'll be us, not the Feds and not the cops.

My phone ringing drags me from my reverie. I move over to where Barney is still sat with a couple of FBI guys and go to grab it. Barney stops me.

"Wait, let me set up a trace – in case it's Ana." He doesn't say the kidnappers, which is what he really means. But I wait, jiggling anxiously as it continues to ring. Barney's fingers are flying over the keyboard as he tries to set up the system quickly. He nods finally and indicates for me to pick up.

Hesitantly, I take the phone.

"Hello?"

"_Hello, Christian."_ The voice that answers is familiar, and sends a chill racing through me. How...? How is he out of jail? I'd told Ana he was a threat to make her act more responsibly, but as far as I knew that bastard was locked up with no chance of making the ridiculously high bail cost. It takes all my strength to hold it together.

"Jack, you fucking son of a bitch! What the fuck have you done with my wife and my sister?"I'm screaming down the phone, but I don't care. Reason and sense have fled and left something much worse: fear and panic. Jack is a crazy bastard and I have no doubt he'll hurt Ana to get to me, and to exact revenge on her for destroying his career. "Where the fuck are they, Hyde?"

I can practically hear the glee in his voice when he speaks. _"Time to play, Baby Bird." _

The last thing I hear before the line goes dead is a woman screaming.


End file.
